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FRAGMENTS. 



IN PROSE AND VERSE, 



BY 



MISS ELIZABETH SMITH 



WITH SOMEmCCOUNT OF 



HER LIFE AND CHARACTER: 



r/i 



BY 



W M. BOWDLER. 



BURLINGTON, N. J. 

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY D. x4.LLINS0N & CO. 

1811, 






18X71 



,v or f^■^^'S/? 







PREFACE 



The favour with which memoirs and letters are 
generally received by the publick, has encouraged 
the production of a great many biographical works, 
written on very different principles, and which must 
be perused with very different feelings. The de- 
light, with which every friend of science and virtue 
reads the life of Sir William Jones, of Dr. Beattie, 
of Mr. Cowper, or of Mrs. Carter, can furnish no 
excuse for publications, in which some of the most 
vicious characters that disgrace the present times, 
are dragged into notice to disgust or to corrupt 
succeeding generations. For such an insult on the 
principles and the taste of the reader, no apology 
can be offered : but when the character that is 
brought before the publick is really deservmg of 
esteem, the feeling heart will view with indulgence 

A2 



VI PREFACE. 

the partial fondness of surviving friendship, which 
endeavours to save from oblivion the object of its 
affection, and to strew a few flowers on the humble 
tomb of departed virtue. 

The following pages will not be found to' contain 
a single sentence which can give pain to any human 
being; and though nothing in this collection was 
written with a view to publication, yet as the deli- 
cacy which always shrunk from observation cannot 
now be wounded by praise or blame, it is, I hope, 
allowable to remove the veil which an excess of 
modest reserve threw over uncommon merit. 

The Young Lady, whose talents and virtues are 
here pointed out to the reader, was little known in 
the world. Her short life was spent in retirement, 
and it affords no incidents to awaken curiosity; but 
it offers an example, which may be useful to all her 
sex, particularly to the younger part of it ; and 
I am encouraged to hope that her writings may not 
be uninteresting to readers of a very different de- 



PREFACE. Vll 

scription.^ I have only noticed such circumstan- 
ces in her " short and simple annals," as seemed 
necessary to explain her letters, and to shew the 
^progress of her improvement in different branches 
iof science. 7'he use which she made of learning, 
and the effect which it produced on her conduct in 
life, may be collected from many parts of the follow- 
ing work, which will prove that every acquisition in 
science only increased the humility of her natural 
character j while extensive reading and deep reflec- 
tion, added strength to her conviction of those great 
truths of revealed religion, which in life and in 
death supported her through every trial, and which 
can alone afford consolation to the parents and 
friends who live to mourn her loss. 

* See Letter XII. from the Rev* Dr. Randolph to Mrs 
nith, in the Appendix. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



In compliance with what appears to be the 
general wish, the names of the persons mentioned 
in the Fragments are inserted in this edition: and 
with a grateful sense of the indulgence with which 
this little work has been received by the publick, I 
have ventured to replace several passages in Miss 
Smith's letters, which have hitherto been omitted. 
Some letters with which I have lately been favoured 
by the lady to whom they are addressed, will pro- 
bably be considered as a valuable addition to this 
collection; and I flatter myself that anecdotes which 
were thought too trifling for publication when the 
name of the author was concealed, may now appear 
interesting, as contributing to throw light on a char- 
acter which must be esteemed in proportion as it is 
known. To the younger part of my own sex, who 



X ADVERTISEMENT. 

admire the talents of my lamented friend, and wish 
to follow her steps in the paths of science, I beg 
leave to point out the following observations, ex- 
tracted from a late excellent publication. 

" Against learning, against talents of any kind, 
nothing can steady the head, unless you fortify the 
heart with real Christianity. In raising the moral 
edifice, we must sink deep in proportion as we build 
high. We must widen the foundation, if we extend 
the superstructure. Religion alone can counteract 
the aspirings of genius, can regulate the pride of ta- 
lents. And let such women as are disposed to be 
vain of their comparatively petty attainments, look 
up with admiration to those contemporary shining 
examples, the venerable Elizabeth Carter, and the 
blooming Elizabeth Smith. I knew them both, and 
to know was to revere them. In them let our young 
ladies contemplate profound and various learning, 
chastised by true christian humility. In them let 
them venerate acquirements which would have 



ADVERTISEMENT. XI 

been distinguished in an University, meekly soften- 
ed, and beautifully shaded, by the gentle exertion 
of every domestick virtue, the unaffected exercise 
of every feminine employment." 

C celebs in search of a Wife* 



MISS SMITH'S LIFE, &c. 



Miss Elizabeth smith was bom at 

Burnhall, nea^ Durham, (the beautiful residence of 
her paternal ancestors,) in December, 1776. Some 
particulars relating to the early part of her life, may 
be learnt from a letter written soon after her death 
by her afflicted mother to the Rev. Dr. Randolph; 
in consequence of his request that she would inform 
him of such circumstances, with regard to the gra- 
dual progress of her daughter's mind, as had not 
come under his own observation.^^ I will only men- 
tion here a few particulars, which seem necessary to 
explain her writings. 

When I first saw Miss Smith, in the summer of 
the year 1789, she was only in her thirteenth year, 

* See Appendix. Letter I. 
B 



14 MISS SMITH S LIFL. 

and her ext-reme timidity made it difficult to draw 
her into conversation; but even then I saw many 
proofs of very uncommon talent. We were frequent- 
ly together during the three following years, either 
at Piercefield, where Mr* and Mrs. Smith then re- 
sided, or at Bath, where Miss Smith and her sisters 
were often with us. At that time Elizabeth aston- 
ished us by the facility with which she acquired in- 
formation on every subject. She excelled in every 
thing that she attempted. Musick, Dancing, Draw- 
ing, and Perspective were then her chief pursuits, 
and she succeeded in all; but even at that early age 
her greatest pleasure seemed to be reading, which 
she would pursue with unwearied attention, during 
so many hours, that I often endeavoured to draw 
her away from lier books, as I feared that such close 
application might injure her health. She was then 
well acquainted with the French and Italian langua- 
ges, and had made considerable progress in the stu- 
dy of Geometry, and some other branches of the 
mathematicks. At every period of her life she was 
extremely fond of poetry. The following fragment 
is dated in June, 1792. 

The Sun, just rising from his watVy bed, 
Shook from his golden locks the briny drops; 
The Earth her many-colour'd mantle spread, 
And caught the crystal on her flow'rets' tops; 
While nature smii'd. ro see her rising crops 



:.iiss SMITH s life. 1 

With brighter beauty glow, and richer hues; 
As now the night her sable chariot stops, 
Each drooping flow'r, refresh 'd with morning dev\s, 
Lifts its gay head, and all around its fragrance strews. 

So fair the morn, when Emma, fairer stiil. 
Left the lone cottage, now her sole retreat; 
And wander'd musing o'er the neighboring hill, 
With downcast eyes, which weeping look'd more sweet, 
Down to the vale she turn'd her trembling feet; 
There, in the middle of a shady wood, 
O'erhung with trees, which branch to branch did meet, 
Glided a gentle stream, where, as it stood. 
Each bough its image shew'd in the clear glassy flood. 

Here paus'd the Nymph, and on the bank reclin'd, 
'Neath a large oak fann'd by each gentle gale; 
She sv%'eird the brook with tears, with sighs the wind, 
And thus her melancholy fate 'gan wail. 
And ye who read her sad and mournful tale. 
Oh! drop one tender sympathetick tear! 
Think that the best of human kind is frail, 
Nor knows the moment when his end is iiear; 
But all sad Emma's hapless fate must fear. 

"How fair each form in youthful fancy's eyes, 
Just like the tender flow'rs of blooming Ma^ ; 
Like them in all their beauty they arise, 
Like them they fade, and sudden die away. 
We mourn their loss, and wish their longer stviv,. 
But all in vain; — no more the flow'rs leturn. 
Nor fancy's images divinely gay! 
So pass'd my early youth; then in its turn 
Each fancied image pleas'd; for each at times I bur; . 



t6 MISS s]mith's lifj:. 

"How charming then o'er hill and vale to stray, 
When first the sun shot forth his morning beam; 
Or when at eve he hid his golden ray, 
To climb the rocks, and catch the last faint gleam; 
Or when the inoon imbrued in blood did seem, 
To watcii her rising from the distant hill, 
iler soft light trembling on the azure stream, 
Which gently curl'd, while all beside was still; 
How would such scenes my heart with admiration flil! 

"But now, alas! those peaceful days are o*er; 
Fled like the summer breeze that wakes the dawn, 
Wafts spicy odours swift from shore to shore, 
And gathers all the fragrance of the lawn; 
Yet ere his noon-day crown the sun adorn, 
'Tis past, 'tis gone; no more the scorching pljwns 
Can shew vihere blew the gentle breath of morn; 
The brook, the cattle, and the shepherd swains, 
All seek the shade; — but peace for Emma none remains." 

In May, 1792, Miss Hunt accompanied me to 
Piercefield -, and it is not extraordinary that simila- 
rity of talents and pursuits, as well as sympathy in 
every thing that is good and amiable, should lead 
Elizabeth to attach herself strongly to her: From 
that time a correspondence began, from which I 
have made a few extracts, to shew what were her 
studies and aniusements at fifteen years of age. 



MISS SMITH 3 LIFE. if 

"TO MISS HUNT. 

''July 7, 1792. 
" I am much obliged to you for all the informa- 
tion in your last letter, and I hope I have found out 
what you wanted. I have been measuring circles, 
and ftnd that my former conjecture was right: &c. 

&c. 1 know not whether I have explained this 

properly, but so it appears to me. I was a little 
mortified to see that my table was not quite exact, 
though I fear it is as near as it can be brought; but 
if this way of making equal squares and circles is 
right, it will make me amends. The line in Dante 
is very applicable, but I desire you will not begin to 
despair yet; I do not, though there are many things 
that I prefer to these IMathematicks. At the head 
of them stands Poetry. I thought some parts of 
Tasso extremely fine: Dante I have not read. At 
present I am engaged in an argument with my dear 
Miss Bowdler, concerning Ossian. I support him 
against all other poets. You may easily guess who 
will get the better; but I will say all I can for Os- 
sian, for I really love his poems beyond all others. 
Milton must stand alone; but surely Ossian is in 
some respects superiour to Homer. Can you find 
any thing equal to his descriptions of nature; his 
Address to the Sun in Carthon, that to the Moon in 
Darthula, and the last hymn? Surely in "the joy of 



13 2IXSS SMITPl's LIFE. 

grief," and in night scenes, there is nothing equal 
to him. I would rather read the description of one 
of his ghosts than of all Ilomer^s gods. One of my 
greatest reasons for admiring him is, that all his he- 
roes are so good. There is not one of them that would 
be guilty of a cruel action for the world, nor would 
they insult over the dead. In short one cannot help 
loving almost every person Ossian mentions. Be- 
sides there are no vulgar descriptions, but every 
word is poetry. By way of comparison, look at some 
particular description in Homer and in Ossianj sup- 
pose it is a moon-light; you will find but one of any 
consequence in Homer, and then it is only a simile, 
though a very beautiful one; it begins at the 687th 
line of the 8th book. Compare it with any one of 
the vast number you will find in Ossian. I think 
the idea of the Moon retiring to weep for the sis- 
ters she has lost, is finer than all the philosophy on 
the subject. I love your flowery meadows, and 
murmuring streams; but I cannot help preferring 
rude mountains, roaring torrents, and rocky preci- 
pices. I could wander with pleasure in your seques- 
tered vale, but should feel more transported by the 
grandeur of one of Ossian's night scenes," &c. 

"-^From my Library, July 27, 1792. 
^' I am really ashamed, when I look at the date of 
voiir kind letter, and particularly when I considt^r 



MlyS SMITH S LIFE. 19 

how good you were in writing to me so soon; but the 
truth is, we are all in such confusion, with an old 
house about our ears, and so pushed about from one 
room to another, that I have not been able to com- 
mand a quiet hour to write to you. However, Kitty 
and I are now settled in the Librjlry, and here I will 
endeavour to make up for my former.negligence. 1 
wish I had you and Miss Bowdler to help me pull 
the books about, and then I should not wish for a 
better house. 

" We have not received any certain information 
respecting the Castle; but I am inclined to give it, 
whatever it was, to Llewellyn ap GryiTydd, whom 
we have determined to kill on a piece of ground ad- 
joining to it; and Mr. Williams, who is w^ritmg the 
history of Monmouthshire, told us that Buillt, 
Avhere it has been said he died, is somewhere near 
this place; he does not know exactly where it is, but 
we will find it out. I am sure it is in our woods. If 
this be not true, it is at least such a pretty little fic- 
tion, and so harmless, that I really must believe it. 
I wish you would write a poem on his death, and 
place it in our wood. You must say that it is trans- 
lated from an old Welsh bard, and that will set the 
matter beyond a doubt. 

*' You must not expect any thing very bright from 
me to-day, for my head aches very much; and as to 



20 MISS smith's life. 

the hand-writing, I can never write well when my 
heart is concerned, I have given you a specimen of 
my very worst to prove that you are in high favour.. 
If you should ever receive a letter from me written 
like copper-plate, depend upon it I am going to 
quarrel with you. If on the contrary you cannot 
read m}^ scrawl, be assured it is all love and grati- 
tude, and remain satisfied with that; at least I hope 
so, for the only pleasure I can hope to give you is by 
telling you that I am your sincerely affectionate." 

^^ August 13. 
^' I am so delighted with what you say of Llew- 
ellyn, that I cannot rest till I w*rite to you. Has 
Mrs. Graves shewn the manuscript to any person 
who understands Welsh? She would not perhaps like 
to trust the original out of her own hands, but if she 
would have it copied we could easily get it transla- 
ted for her, and should consider ourselves highly 
obliged by a sight of it. If it is what Mrs. Graves 
supposes, it will indeed be invaluable. - I have a 
great mind to believe that our Castie in the wood is 
the Castle of Buillt, for no one seems to know ex- 
actly where that is; and if the prince was killed in 
our grounds, it certainly is so. I hope the manu- 
script will settle all our doubts; at present we are 
obliged to fight hard, with every body we meet, in 
maintaining our cause. I am charmed with the name 



3iisa smith's life. 21 

Gwilliiii of Gwhent, the Blue Knight: it would 
be a good one for the hero of a romance. 

« 
" Could you see the state our house is in, you 
vroald not think it possible to live in it; half the walls 
pulled down, foundations dug, and heaps of rubbish 
every where. I admire the date of your letter; it 
would have suited the Mistress of Gwillim of 
Gwhent; but you should have a better name than 
Mary to please him^ though not to please me^ for 
while it belongs to you, I shall ever love it." 



The Castle mentioned in these letters requires 
some explanation. Elizabeth discovered some re- 
mains of buildings in a wood, and thought she could 
trace out several round towers, a moat, &c. I re- 
member our walking over the spot where her lively 
imagination had built a Castle, of which she drew a 
plan from the slight traces which remained. She 
was then unacquainted with architecture; but I 
shewed her little drawing to a gentleman who per- 
fectly understood the subject, and he said that he 
believed she was right in her conjecture, for the 
plan she had drawn was exactly what was usually 
adopted by the Romans in their castles. The fol- 
lowing paper will shew the indefatigable application 
'.yith v/hich Elizabeth pursued the inquiries, which 



-22 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

a passage in Warrington's History^^ of Wales led 
her to make, in regard to the situation of Buillt, and 
some other circumstances mentioned by him* 

* Account of the death of Llewellyn, from Warrington's 
History of Wales, page 509. 

" Llewellyn proceeded to the cantrew of Buiilt, near the wa- 
ter of Wye. 

♦' The Prince was waiting in a small grove. On the ene- 
my's first assault, his Esquire came to inform him that he 
heard a great outcry at the bridge. The Prince eagerly asked 
if his people were in possession of the bridge; and being told 
that they were, he calmly replied, then he would not stir from 
thence, though the whole power of England were on the other 
side of the river. This confidence though not improperly plac- 
ed, lasted but a moment, the grove being surrounded by the 
enemy's horse. Beset on every side, and cut off from his army, 
Llewellyn endeavoured as secretly as he could to make good 
his retreat, and to join the troops he had stationed on the moun- 
tain, who drawn up in battle array, were eagerly expecting the 
return of their prince. In making this attempt, he was disco- 
vered and pursued by Adam de Francton, who perceiving him 
to be a Welshman, and not knowing his quality, plunged his 
spear into the body of the prince, being unarm'd and incapable 
of defence. The Welsh were afterwards defeated, and left two 
thousand men dead on the field. All this time Llewellyn lay 
on the ground, faint, and almost expiring. He had just life 
enough remaining to ask for a priest, A white friar, who chan- 
ced to be present, administered to the dying prince the last du- 
ties of his office. The hurry of the action being ended, Franc- 
ton came back to strip the person he had wounded. On view- 
ing the body, which was still breathing, it was found, to the 
great joy of the English army, that it was the prince of Wales." 



31ISS SMITH S LIFE. 23 

'-'' Arthur seems to have been king of Gwhent, 
which comprehended all Monmouthshire, part of 
the dioceses of Hereford and Worcester, and the part 
of Glocestershire between the Wye and the Severn. 
Milton mentions Buillt in Brecknockshire. Cam- 
den mentions Kair-Lheon as a great city, having 
three churches, one of which was honoured with the 
metropolitan see of WVies. Here the Roman Am- 
liassadours received their audience at the illustrious 
court of the great King Arthur. 

The ancient register of Landaff, amongst many 
benefactions made to that church in the times of 
Dubricius, Telian, and Odoceus, the three first bi- 
shops of the see, recites at length two grants, one of 
the lands of St. Kinmare, by Arthur king of Gwhent, 
son of Mouric king of Glamorgan, who gave Moch- 
ros to Dubricius; the other of Caerleon by another 
Arthur, king also of Gwhent, but the son of Funvail 
king of the same country. Funvail defeats the Sax- 
ons at Tynterne, and dies at Matherne, which his 
son gives to Cardiffe in the year 560. About A. 
D, 600, the archbishoprick of Caerleon was remov- 
ed to St. David's. 

" Upon the river Wye is Buillt. Whether this 
town be the ancient BuUosum, or whether that city 
or fort, were not at a place called Kareen, some miles 



24 MISS SMITH'S LIFE. 

distant from it, may be questioned. If it be urged 
in favour of Buillt, that it seems still to retain its 
ancient name; it may be answered, that Buillt, v/hich 
I interpret Ox-cliff, or Oxen-hill, was the name of 
a small country here, from whence in all probability 
the ancient BuUceum was denominated; but that be- 
ing totally destroyed, and this town becoming af- 
terwards the most noted place of the country, it 
might receive its name from it as the former had 
done. But since the congruity of the names was 
the main argument that induced our learned author 
to assign this situation to the ancient Bulloeum Si- 
lurum, we shall have occasion of hesitating, if here- 
after we find the ruins of a Roman fort or city in a 
neighbouring county of the Silures." — Carte* 

The above is only a very small part of the extracts 
made by Miss Smith, from SmoUet, Collier, Carte, 
Camden, and Monasticon Ang. on this subject. 



"TO MISS HUNT. 

"-' Sept. 27,1792. 
" I must trouble you with some family affairs, that 
you may know what becomes of us. To-morrow 
se'nnight my Mother will go to a friend in Town, 
not being able to stay here any longer. Kitty goes 
with her, and then to Mrs. Claxton, where I hope 



MISS smith's LII'J:. 25 

she will see Miss Bowdler. I remain at home with 
my Father, Brother, Juliet, and the two little boys, 
till Christmas, when I rather think we shall all meet 
at Bath. Will not you be there too? I live in hopes, 
and like the place much better since you were so 
good to me there. Indeed you are too good to me, 
for I well know that all the pleasure, as well as the 
obligation, is on my side; yet, like Miss Bowdler, 
you would have me believe the contrary, but I am 
not so easily deceived. It can be only out of good 
nature that either of you write to me, or take the 
trouble of reading my scrawls. Apropos of scrawls, 
I hope you perceive great improvement. I do not 
mean that the copper-plate letter is come yet; you 
probably will not mistake this for such; but in v/hat- 
ever way it may be written, I hope you will always 
be able to make out the affection with which I am 
yours sincerely. 

" PS. I am looking at a most divine sky, which 
is the whole prospect we have from any part of the 
house. I want an Ossian to paint it. Where did 
you get those two sweet lines you sent me? I wish 
you would send some more by a hand I know. I 
have not room for all the kind things that are sent 
to you, but your imagination can paint better than 
my pen." 



26 MISS SMITH S LI IK. 

''October 27, 1792. 
" I have now the satisfaction of telling you, my 
dear friend, that all our anxiety is over. On Tues- 
day we gained a little brother, and both my mother 
and he are perfectly well. This is, as you may ima- 
gine, a great relief to me, and I know your sympa- 
thizing heart will rejoice at it. 

" As to our circle, I fear we are no nearer to it 
than others have been before us. I found an old 
book the other day in whicH was a calculation, I 
cannot tell you how long, which proves that we ijrc 
not perfectly exact; and as I despair of ever being 
more so, I shall give up all thoughts of it, for I think 
you are tired as well as myself.'^ 

'^ Decemb&r 12,1792. 
" Being determined to have a poem on Llewel- 
lyn's death, and not being able to persuade you, my 
dear friend, to commit forgery, I have been obliged 
to try my hand at it, and I send it you because you 
desire me to continue rhyming; though, without 
making use of any of the modesty for which you so 
kindly give me credit, I must see that I do not de- 
serve all that you say on that subject. However, if 
it be your true opinion, you must be delighted at 



3IISS SMITH S LIFE. 27 

being desired to read this volume of nonsense; and 
if it be not, I have taken the most eflectual method 
to cure you of complimenting. 

"I am going to Bath to-morrow to meet my moth- 
er, and am sitting up to-night to finish my letter to 
you. We shall be at No. 1 1, Circus; where I hope, 
if I must not expect to see you, at least I shall hear 
from you. 

^' Can you tell on what part of the banks of the 
Wye to find Mochros and Hentlan?* I can only find 
that Hentlan is between the rivers Wye and Irgu- 
dina, which last I can nowhere discover. Do not 
go far to look for it, as I know by experience what 
an undertaking it is. All those old authors copy 
after each other, and make nothing but confusion. 
I prefer my own way of making the history just as 
I please, without consulting one of them; and upon 
that principle, I intend to put the places I have men- 
tioned at or near Piercefield. I could tell you a 
great deal more about it, if I had time. 

" It is a great happiness that Mrs. Bowdler has 
not suffered from her journey, but I am sorry to hear 

* I have lately been informed that Hentlan is a small village, 
four or five miles on the Hereford side of Ross. Mochros is 
probably the seat of Sir George Cornwall, bart. on the banks 
of the Wye now called Moccas, 



28 

she is now far from well. This must be a great 
distress to our dear friend. I wish you would trans- 
port yourself to Bath, where you would find Miss 
Bowdler, as wefl as myself, rejoiced to see you; 
though I confess it is impossible to have so much 
comfort in one's friends there as in the country. — 
I am glad you like German so much. My Brother 
once began to teach me, but either found me too 
dull, or was too lazy to go on. I fear we must give 
'ip our circles. — The Lusiad I never read: it was 
Middleton's Life of Cicero that I meant. I was not 
tired with its length, because the chief of its con- 
tents were new to me. I have lately undertaken 
SmoUet's History of England, but must leave it in 
the middle. 

" Pray excuse this wretched scrawl. I fear you 
will think that all my good resolutions with respect 
to writing are vanished: but the truth is, I am hur- 
ried, and scribbling with an intolerably bad pen; for 
I am unwilling to leave this place without thanking 
you for your letter, as there is still less time to be 
found at Bath; but I trust you will believe me, 
whether I have time to tell you so or not, and wheth- 
er I write so that you can read it or not, 

" Ever your sincerely affectionate Friend. 

'> PS. It is now so late, that as I am to be up at 
:^ix, I have no mind to go to bed at all, but I believe 
w lUit of fire and candle will soon drive me there." 



MISS smith's life. 29 

A supposed Translation from a Welsh Poem, lately dug up at 

Piercefield, in the same spot where. Llewellyn ap Gryffydd 

was slain, December 10, 1231. 

/^ 

Round Snowdon's shaggy brows grim darkness hung, 
Save that the moon, the gather'd clouds among, 
Shot forth at times a dimly-gleaming ray. 
Then wat'ry, pale, turn'd her sad face awa)'. 
In Merlin's cave I sate, 

And mark'd her tearful eye; 
Which seem'd to mourn the fate 
Decreed for some on high. 

What fate's decreed by heaven, blest beam of night, 
That so disturbs thy sweetly-smiling light? 
No more it shines;— Thou turn'st thy face with sComj 
And darkly leav'st me, wretched and forlorr!. 
Down the steep the torrent roars. 

Loud the thunder rings from far, 
Billows shake the rocky shores, 
All resounds the din of war. 

But hark! — This elemental war is drown'd 
In one more great and more terrifick sound: 
A sound high Snowdon from his base to tear, 
A sound the spirits of the dead shall fear! 

Spirits of my sires, attend! 

Down from your clouds, ye blest ones, bendl 

Tell me, whence these shrieks of woe 

With cries of death confus'dly flow? 
c2 



^-J MISS smith's LIFEr 

Great Merlin, thou, the ctiief of Prophets, hear! 
To thy own cave *mid stormy winds draw near? 
Pour on my darken'd soul thy light divine, 
And give it in fair truth's bright blaze to shin€. 

He comes, he comes, in mist array'd, 

Slow and solemn glides the shade! 

And while he speaks, the earth stands still, 

List'ning to his mighty will. 

" Heav'n-favour'd Bard, my words attentive hear. 
Words such as ne'er were giv*n to mortal ear; 
I tell the woes to-morrow's sun shall bring, — 
Cambria shall fall, shall lose her much-loved king. 
On Vaga's banks, near to where once Buillt stood, 
O'erlooking fair Sabrina's silver flood, 
Pierc'd with a spear ingloriously he'll fall, 
^Vhence future times that spot shall Piercefield ca4i. 

So saying, like the meteor's blaze, 
The spirit flies; 
And while I gaze. 

The dim red light in darkness dies] 

But, oh, my country! how shall I deplore 
Thy cruel doom? Cambria shall be no more! 
Llewellyn too, our guardian king, shall fiill. 
In him we lose our only hope, — our all! 

Blow, ye winds; and roar, ye waves; 

Rend the mountains, inmost caves; 

Let loose the spirits of the storm. 

Bid them rise in human form, 



MISS smith's LIFE. 31 

More fierce than they, in human fornn appears 
That barb'rous Prince, who causes all our tears; 
A tiger's heart he bears beneath that face, 
Which seems to promise honour, goodness, grace. 
Let lightning flash, 

And thunder growl, 
Let torrents dash, 

And the black tempest o'er me scowl; 
This soul, in unison with every guest, 
Shall rage and burn till I be turn'd to dust; 
Ne'er shall I patient brook my country's doom, 
B ut sighing, sorrowing, sink into the tomb. 

Daughters of Cambria, with me mourn, 

Sing the sad woe-breathing strain; 
From your fair heads the ringlets torn 

Scatter round th' ensanguined plain. 
No more in summer's even tide 

Your gentle flocks you*ll lead 
To where the brook, with flowery side, 

Slow wanders through the mead; 
But soon to conquerors rude a prey. 

You'll quit your native land, 
And drag through life your mournful way? 

A wretched, captive band! 

Warriours, break the sounding mail, 

Cast down the lance, the helm untie; 
Arms shall now no more avail, 

For you before the foe shall il/. 



32 MISS SMITH S LIFE* 

No more, in deeds of arms renown'd, 

You'll dare the single fight; 
Or with exulting laurels crown'd, 

Assert your country's right; 
But to the woods and marshes driv'n, 

Ingloriously you'll sigh; 
For ah! to you it is not giv'n 

Amidst your friends to die! 

To Piercefield's Cliffs I'ii now a pilgrim go, 
Shed o'er my Prince belov'd the tears of woe; 
There will I seek some deep and rocky cell, 
Amidst the thick entangled wood to dwell; 

There indulge my plaintive theme, 

To the wan moon's icy beam; 

While the rocks responsive ring, 

To my harp's high-sounding string; 

Vaga stops her rolling tide, 

List'ning to her ancient pride; 

Birds and beasts my song attend, 
And mourn with me our country's fatal end! 



My friends spent three months in Bath, and we 
past many happy hours together, till Mrs. Smith and 
her family went to Piercefield on the 28th of Fe- 
bruary. The following letter was written the day 
before they set out from Bath. 



33 



"TO MISS HUNT. 

" Bath, February 27, 1793. 
'" I urn quite ashamed, my dear friend, to find that 
I have been so long in debt for your charming let- 
ter; though, to speak properly, I shall always be so, 
for I cannot return one like it. I might at least 
have said ' I thank you;' but you know how little 
time is to be had here; and I know, and presume 
upon, your goodness in excusing my idleness, and 
know too that I have not thought of you the less for 
not telling you so. 

" Miss Bowdler and I wish for you every day, so 
that you are in no danger of being forgotten betweea 
us; and whilst we remember you, w^e cannot forget 
to love you. I am much obliged to you for all the 
trouble you have taken about the places I wished to 
find, but I believe it is a fruitless search. I am per- 
suaded their situation is not known, and I intend to 
place them where I choose to have them. 

" The above was written this morning, when I 
did not expect to leave this place before Friday, but 
I now find we are to go home to-morrow; and I 
must, however unwillingly, make an end of my let- 
ter. I hope to have more time at Piercefield, where 



34 

we are now all to meet, after having been scattered 
over the face of the earth for the last half year. I 
shall be excessively grieved, as yoii can imagine, to 
leave our dear friend; but otherwise I shall not re- 
gret Bath." 

At the commencement of the war, in the year 
1793, many Banks in the west of England failed, 
and Mr. Smith's was unfortunately of that number. 
The domestick happiness to which Elizabeth looked 
forward when she wrote the last letter, was fatally 
interrupted by this event; and I received from her 
the following letter, written only five days after she 
left Bath. The importance of the subject probably 
induced me to preserve this letter, when I destroy- 
ed many others which I shall never cease to regret. . 
Alas! I little thought that I should live to mourn 
the early death of my amiable young friend, whose 
talents and virtues were my pride and delight, and 
who I hoped would have been an ornament and a 
blessing to the world, long after I was removed from 
it! — It has pleased God to order otherwise. 

^^ Piercefeld, March 3, 1793. 
" We were within an hour of setting off from 
hence, and intended to have seen you, my dearest 
friend, to-morrow; when we were prevented, and I 
may say it is the only time I have ever rejoiced at i 



being prevented seeing you. Last night, after my 
mother wrote to you, we were informed by a friend 
that there was an execution against my father. At 
ten o'clock at night the under-sheriff, &c. came to 
take possession of the house. It was secured, so that 
they could not enter; but you may imagine the hor- 
rour of our situation in that night of storms. For- 
tunately, the next day being Sunday, we had to 
vratch only till twelve o'clock; and to-day we were 
preparing to go away at eight this evening, when 
we heard that my father's attorney was come from 
London, that the money was provided and the exe- 
cution stopped. There is to be a meeting of credi- 
tors to-morrow, who are to have an exact statement 
of all the concerns of the Bank. My Mother sup- 
ported herself vvonderfully last night, but to-day she 
was quite exhausted, till this news revived her a lit- 
tle. Mr. and Mrs were in dreadful anx- 

iiety this morning, but I hope they too are a little 
comforted;* in short the prospect now appears 

* In the summer of the year 1791, when the Bank was in a 

very flourishing state, Mr , who was the neighbour and 

friend of Mr. Smith, put his name in the firm, without advanc- 
ing any part of the capital, or receiving any share of the emol- 
uments; but on condition that his son should be taken into the 
house as a clerk, and be admitted a partner on his coming of 

age. In consequence of this circumstance, Mr. .'. , was 

involved in the misfortune which happened in the year 1793; to 



36 MISS smith's life. 

bright to what it did two hours ago, and we shall 
all, I hope, bear whatever happens with fortitude. 
Above all, my beloved friend, I entreat you not to 
be uneasy, for I trust all will be well. My only 
apprehension has been for my Mother; and J con- 
fess it has been hard work to appear cheerful, when 
I saw her agitated to the greatest degree, and knew 
I could in no way be of the least use; but she shew- 
ed great resolution whenever it was necessary. My 
Father now writes in better spirits, and I am happy 
ro see her a little more at ease. My Mother de- 
sires me to say a thousand kind things for her. — 
The servants have behaved nobly, and she has had all 
the comfort that friends can give. If she had none 
but you, she would be rich enough; and I shall wish 
for nothing more, while I know you are mine. — 
Adieu, my dearest ." 

I went to Piercefield on the following day; but I 
will not attempt to describe the scene to which I was 
then a witness. Afflictions so nobly supported 
make the sufferers objects of envy rather than pity; 
a change of fortune, so sudden, and so unexpected, 
vv^as a great trial, but it was received in a manner to 
command the respect of all who witnessed it. I |;iad 

the regret of all who knew him, and particularly of the Smith 
family, as all the letters which I received from them at this 
period strongly prove. 



MISS smith's life. oT 

long seen and admired Mrs. Smith, in the situation 
in which she seemed peculiarly formed to shine: in 
one of the finest places in England, surrounded by 
her lovely children, with all the elegant comforts of 
affluence, and delighting her happy guests by the 
fascinating charms of her conversation. Through 
all the misfortunes which marked the period of 
which I am now speaking, I can with truth say of 
Mrs. Smith, what she says of her beloved daugh- 
ter, that I do not recollect a single instance of a 
murmur having escaped her, on account of the loss 
of fortune; but there were other circumstances at- 
tending this sad event, which such a heart as hers 
must deeply feel; and a letter which is now before 
me, speaks the language of all that I received from 
her at that period: '^ The business is again de- 
layed. I 5im averse to this prolongation of our mi- 
sery, but it is a duty we owe to Mr. and Mrs , 

to do every thing which can be likely to save them. 
Oh, my friend, if this amiable family were but se- 
cure, I should be no longer miserable; but as it is, 
the thought of their situation sometimes sinks me 
almost to despair." This was an affliction, under 
which even conscious rectitude was not sufficient 
to support her; but the loss of fortune, as it was oc- 
casioned neither by extravagance nor vice, and dig- 
nified by such conduct as secured the respect and 
esteem of their friends, was supported by every in- 

D 



^8 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

dividual of the family with truly christian fortitude 
and resignation. 

In a few days after I went to Piercefield, my 
friends quitted it forever ; and the young ladies 
spent seven or eight months with us, in and near 
Bath. The time which was thus spent with my 
mother, was certainly of great advantage to my 
young friends; for she was extremely fond of them, 
and nothing can be more just than what Mrs. Smith 
says of her peculiarly happy manner of conveying 
instruction. Many of their favourite pursuits had 
been interrupted. They had lost the sublime scenes 
of Piercefield, which furnished an infinite variety of 
subjects for the pencil. They drew extremely well, 
and Elizabeth was completely mistress of perspec- 
tive. Her musical talents were very uncommon: 
she played remarkably well both on the piano-forte 
and harp, but she had lost her instruments. The li- 
brary, of which she so well knew the value, was 
gone. Always averse to large parties, and with no 
taste for dissipation, she readily agreed to a plan of 
employment proposed by my Mother, and we en- 
tered on a regular course of history, both ancient 
and modern. At other times we studied Shakes- 
peare, Milton, and some other English poets, as 
well as some of the Italians. We took long walks, 
and often drew from nature. We read with great 
attention the whole of the New Testament, Seeker's 



Lectures on the Catechism, and several other books 
on the same important subjects. After my Mother 
retired to rest, we usually studied the stars, and 
read Bonycastle's Astronomy, which reminds me 
of the following circumstance. Elizabeth told me 
one evening that she did not understand what is 
said in Bonycastle, page 91, of Kepler's celebrated 
calculation, by which he discovered that the squares 
of the periods of the planets are in proportion to the 
cubes of their distances. She wanted to know how 
to make use of this rule, but I confessed my inabi- 
lity to assist her. When I came down to breakfast 
at nine the next morning, I found her with a folio 
sheet of paper almost covered with figures; and I 
discovered that she rose as soon as it was light, and 
by means of Bonycastle's Arithmetick, had learnt to 
extract the cube-root, and had afterwards calculated 
the periods and distances of several planets, so as 
clearly to shew the accuracy of Kepler's rule, and 
the method of employing it. In such pursuits as I 
have mentioned, I could accompany her; but in 
others, she had a much better assistant in our mu- 
tual friend. Miss Hunt, who, fortunately for us, 
spent four months in our neighbourhood, and was 
the companion of our studies and our pleasures. She 
led Miss Smith to the study of the German lan- 
guage, of which she was afterwards particular!}' 
fond. She assisted her in Botanical and other pur- 



40 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

suits, as well as in different branches of the Mathe- 
maticks. I do not know when Elizabeth began to 
learn Spanish, but it was at an earlier period than 
that of which I am now speaking; when she was 
with us, she seemed to read it without difficulty, 
and some hours every^ morning before breakfast 
were devoted to these studies. She acquired isome 
knowledge of the Arabick and Persian languages 
during the following winter, when a very fine dic- 
tionary and grammar, in the possession of her broth- 
er, led her thoughts to Oriental literature. She be- 
gan to study Latin and Greek in the year 1794, 
when Mr. Claxton's excellent library, and improv- 
ing conversation, opened to her an inexhaustible 
fund of information. She studied Hebrew from 
my mother's Bible, with the assistance of Park- 
hurst; but she had no regular instruction in any 
language except French. Her love of Ossian led 
her to acquire some knowledge of the Erse lan- 
guage, but the want of books made it impossible for 
her to pursue that study as far as she wished. — 
Some extracts from her letters will shew how she 
was employed during the following years. 

Miss Hunt went into Devonshire in Juty, and 
the correspondence between her and Miss Smith 
was renewed. 



4J 



"TO MISS HUNT. 

''St. Winifred's Dale, Aug, 18, 1793. 
" I have had it in contemplation to write to yoa, 
my dear friend, but I am very glad to be set to 
work immediately by the receipt of your kind letter, 
for which a thousand thanks. You were not mis- 
taken in supposing it would be acceptable to me, for 
I am always happy to hear from you. 

" Even if your letters had not sufficient merit to 
make them interesting to an indliferent person, I 
should love them as coming from you; how much 
then must I value them, considered as what they 
are. Believe me, we miss you as much as you can 
possibly miss us. We never take a pleasant walk, 
or read any thing interesting, but some one says, / 
wish Miss Hunt zvere here; and you may be sure 
that nobody contradicts it. Besides all other rea- 
sons for this wish, I want to shew you every pretty 
passage I meet with in German, which I do not like 
half so well now that I have no one to enjoy it with 
me. I long to study Cicero with you, and certainly 
will, if we are so fortunate as to live near you, in 
which I promise myself great pleasure if we stay in 
England. I admire the German you sent me ex- 
tremely. I have read none since you left me, ex- 

d2 



'42 MISS SMITHES Lli'E. 

cept two books of Dr. Randolph's: Der Golden 
Spiegel, which is an imitation of an Eastern tale, by 
way of making dissertations upon government. It 
is entertaining, and there is an account of a happy 
valley, that makes one long to live in it. The other 
book is Wiessen's Poems,* some of which are very 
pretty. I will send you a specimen, if I have time. 
I was, as well as you, delighted with the Messiah. 

" You do my Tintern Abbey great honour in de- 
siring to see it. I should have sent it by this con- 
veyance, but Miss Bowdler advised its waiting till 
we go ourselves into Devonshire. We are just go- 
ing to church, and in the fear of not having more 
time, let me assure you of the sincere affection with 
which I am ever yours, 

" Pray tell me whether the puzzle you sent is to 
be made out in Spanish or English; though you had 
better tell me the meaning of it at once, for I never 
can find out any thing of the kind. Once moi:e 
adieu. I will send a longer and I hope a better let- 
ter soon,, and the German Poem also." 



* I^yrische Gedichte. 3 vol 



45 



^ ^^ October 15. 

" I will not tell you how sorry I was for your ill- 
ness, nor how anxiously I wished for your recove- 
ry, because I trust you knoV me well enough to 
believe that I cannot be indifferent to any thing 
that so nearly concerns you. Indeed I have been, 
and still am, very anxious for better accounts, which 
I hope we may now daily expect, particularly after 
Miss Burges' return. For your sake I am glad 
she is going, but for my own I cannot help exceed- 
ingly regretting it; as I wished very much to be ac- 
quainted with her, both from what I have heard 
you say, and from the very little I have seen of her 
myself; which gave me so great a desire to see 
cjtoore, that if I had not feared to be thought trou- 
'Vlesome and impertinent, I should certainly hav-e 
ailed by myself, besides the formal visit with the 
J est of our party; but I considered that she could 
giot possibly have the same wish to know me that I 
iiad to know her, and therefore I would not intrude. 

f 

" I have a nice collection of German books, which 
Miss Bowdler has borrowed for me. There is the 
Iliad, which seems to be a very good translation. I 
think the sound is more regularly fine than Pope's, 
and some of the descriptions of nature are much 
superiour to his; but the tender sentiments which 



44 MISS smith's LIl^£. 

the learned say are not in the original, are not to h . 
traced in the German translation. In that respe ' 
we shall all prefer Pope. There is the Messiah, 
which I am reading a second time with more plea- 
sure than the first. A very pretty collection of 
Poems by different personsj a Novel, and a book 
of Plays: so you see I am well furnished at present. 
I wish I had you to enjoy them with me. 

" My favourite study just now is Algebra; and^ 
I find by Saunderson, that if we had consulted pro- 
per books, we should never have spent so much 
time in measuring squares and circles; for though 
by the means we used, (which were perfectly right,) 
it may be brought inconceivably near, it is impossi- ' 
ble to prove it mathematically exact. For example, 

■ I hope you will not have the head-ach wh' 
this arrives, or you will wish my mathematicksf 
Bath again; but when I have learnt any thing t ^ 
we used to puzzle about together, I am never i ^ g 
till you know it.'' 

^^ 

C 

" November 1 7» ^ 

" Send me no Latin quotations, for I understand^ 

them only when the translation comes with them J 

I have just finished Klopstock's Messiah, which lli 

have been reading again, as I did not above halfij 

understand it before. There is more of it than ther? 



iMiss smith's life. 45 

was in Miss Burges', which was, I believe, only 
fifteen books. This is in twenty-two books, and is 
continued to the Ascension, with many hymns and 
songs afterwards. He supposes at that time a day 
of judgment, and that Abandona was pardoned. — - 
Pray inform Miss Burges of this, for I remember 
[learing her regret his fate." 



''April 7, 1794. 
*' I have not thought of you the less becduse I 
lave been too idle to write. You know it is an old 
'ault of mine, and it will be only wasting your time 
md my own to make an apology as long as my si- 
ence. I am very rich in German books just now, 
'or Dr. Randolph w^o has a great many, has given 
ne the entre of his library, to take whatever I like, 
have got your friend Kliest, which I think delight- 
ul; Haller's Poems; and Zimmerman's Einsam- 
eit, which pleases me more than almost any book 
ever read. How much am I obliged to you for 
caching me German ! I assure you I never read a 
eautiful passage, without thinking it is to you I 
we the pleasure I enjoy, and wishing you could 
njoy it with mej for after all it is but a selfish sort 
f thing to read merely to entertain one's self. There 
re some ideas in Zimmerman upon a future state 



46 MISS smith's life. 

very like your book.=*= I envy you extremely in 
reading Virgil: I must learn Latin some day oj^ 
other. At present I am puzzling at Persian and"" 
Arabick, and I mean to begin Hebrew. I get on 
least with Spanish, for I have been able to meet 
with only one book since I read Don Quixote, which 
was the History of the Incas, by Garcillasso de la 
Vega. I was very much pleased with it, though i|f 
is very long, and in some parts tedious. I wish I 
had your patience to translate from one language to 
another, for I believe it is the only way of being 
perfect in any; but I succeed so ill in writing, of 
any kind, that I never like to attempt it. I met with 
a thought in Haller, which was new to me, and 
pleased me muchj but, perhaps, if you have met 
with it before, it may not strike you as it did vi\t*-^ 
Speaking of the weakness of reason without revela* 
tion, he says, 

** Vernunft kan, wie der mond, ein trost der dunkeln Zeiten, 
"Uns durch die braune nacht mit halbem schimmer leiten; 
" Der warlieit morgen-roht zeigt erst die wahre welt, j| 

*' Wann Gottes sonnen-licht durch unser dammiftng failt.*'f 

* Essay on the Happiness of the Life to come, 

f " Reason, like the moon, a consolation in darkness, ca 
guide us with its faint rays through the dusky night. Themori 
ing dawn of truth shews the real world, when the light of tl 
sun breaks through our twilight." Haller on JReasotit SupersV 

tion, and Cajidelity. 



MISS smith's life. 47 

" I forgot to thank you for all the trouble you 
took about Canada. It was very kind indeed, and 
^hereforelike yourself, but I am sorry to say it was to 
|no purpose, for it is entirely given up; much against 
my will, for I was delighted with the idea, and 
wished excessively to go, but I despair of ever see- 
ing it now." 

" Bath^ September 2T, 1794. 
" I have no sort of apology to oifer for my lazi- 
ness, and no claim to your forgiveness, except the 
.assurance that my silence proceeded from no other 
:ause than a fit of the above-mentioned disease, 
.vhich you know I am often troubled with. If you 
;hink this a sufficient reason for pardoning me, it is 
Tiore than I do myself. It is strange that thougli 
-ve all wish for happiness, few choose to comply with 
he conditions by which it may be obtained: thus I 
lave been daily wishing for a letter from you, and 
/et could not persuade myself to write, which I 
.veil knew was the only condition on which I could 
expect it. Two circumstances fix me to this point 
)f time. Miss Bowdler is to send a parcel to-mor- 
•ow, and we are going to leave Bath and its neigh- 
)ourhood: not, I assure you, without great regret 
It leaving our good friends here. I cannot help 
magining that I am parting from you amongst the 
•est, in being removed so much further from you, 



48 MISS smith's LIIK. 

but I hope you will not give me up as an ungrateful 
wretch not worth your notice, but let me ht2xfrom 
you; particularly as I shall not hear o/you, as I now 
do, from Miss Bowdler, and because I shall be m- 
consolable in London if you do not. We are so 
happy here, seeing our dear friend two o^ three 
times every day, that I know not how we shall bear 
the change.— For my part I promise myself no oth 
er pleasure in town but that of seeing some of thos^ 
I love happy. As to the place itself, you may sup- 
pose it is the last I should choose. 

" We are just returned from a walk to Prior- 
Park, with Miss Bowdler; the last I fear that we 
shall take together for a long time. She has given 
me your little book of Astronomy.* It is a very 
pretty thing. 7 

" I have had great store of Spanish lately; the 
Theatre Critico Universale, by Feyjoo, a very 
clever work in 14 volumes: and I am now reading* 
post-haste Mariana's History of Spain, of which II 
have only read half, but am determined to finish i« 
before I go. It is not so interesting as some otherr 
histories, but one must know it. There are so many/ 
different states, sometimes united, sometimes divid- 
ed; so many kings, sometimes all of one name; now^ 

* Lectures on Astronomy and Natural Philosophy. 



MISS smith's like. 49 

friends, now enemies; so many marriages, so manv 
battles, and so many treaties, that it seems to m'e 
impossible to Iiave a clear idea of the work. You 

wJl perhaps think that I read to little purpose 

With this you will receive Zimmerman. Remem- 
ber I do not msist on your admiring the whole nor 
do I promise that you will find Haller very poetical. 
-I am very much hurried, for we are engaged to 
ame at Mrs. Bowdler's. Lebcn ,ie ■cooklnrelnc 
Ueure^^i believe me ever most affectionatelv 
vours," 

Miss Smith removed with the family to London, 
m October 1794, and to Shirley in November, from 
whence she returned to town in February ir95.— 
Shirley is the seat of John Claxton, Esquire. To 
this gentleman, and to his lady, who is nearly relat- 
ed to Mr. Smith, the family always acknowledge 
tliehighestobligations.* During four months spent 
with these valuable friends. Miss Smith began to 
study Latin, and the following letter will shew the 
progress she made. Mr. Claxton authorizes me to 
say that he never gave her any regular instruction, 
and that his library did not contain translations of 
any of the books which she mentions in the next let- 



• See Mrs. Smith to Dr. Randolph. Appendix, Letter III. 

E 



50 



'^ TO MISS HUNT. 

" Londojiy February y 1T95. 
** I believe I told you I should learn Latin before 
I saw you next, and Shirley was a very good place 
for it. I therefore began soon after I went there; 
and I have read Cesar's Commentaries, Livy, and 
some volumes of Cicero, amongst which I almost 
wish the letters to his friends had not been, for they 
shew his whole character to be so much put on, that 
they have let him down many degrees in my opin- 
ion. As to Persian, all my books are at Bath, so 
that I shall most probably forget the litde I knew 
when I saw you last. I have met with neither Ger- 
man nor Spanish books; so that if it were not for 
Latin, I should be quite in despair. I am very im- 
patient to begin Virgil." 



^' March lly 1795. 

" I have just finished the second book of the 
Georgicks, and was particularly delighted with the 
last eighty-four verses. The description* of the 
storm in the first book I think is verj' fine." 



MISS SlrllTIl's LIFE. 51 

''Shirki/,yuly 28, 1795. 

*' I think as you do of Emilia Galotti: Die Rau- 
ber 1 never saw. Indeed I have scarcely read any 
German or Spanish since I left Bath. I must teil 
you that I cannot help being quite reconciled to Ci- 
cero. I have gone through all that I can find here 
of his works, and am so fully persuaded that a man 
who could write as he does could have no great 
faults, that I must, with your leave, forgive his /it- 
tle ones. If you have not yet met with it, only read, 
as a sample, the first book of his Tusculan Disputa- 
tions, * de contemnenda morte;' and I think you 
will agree with me, that with the addition of Chris- 
tianity to confirm his suppositions, and rectify a few 
mistakes in them, and the knowledge of the true 
state of the universe, no doctrine can be more per- 
fect than his; and that half the modern books on the 
subject might have been spared, had the writers of 
them, before they began, read this dialogue. 

" I have just finished Clarendon's History of the 
Rebellion, which Miss Bowdler long ago desired 
rne to read. It is extremely interesting and instruc- 
tive. Here is another of her favourites, Spenser, 
which I once gave up in despair, but v'hich I aiii 
very glad I have read, for I am charmed v/ith it, and 
I think some of the lesser poems are even superioii: 



to the Fairy Queen. We have read Mr. Gisborne's 
book* aloud, and all the party was extremely pleas- 
ed with it. 

" I have got a new Atlas of all the remarkable 
fixed stars that are visible to us, without the figures. 
I would shew it to you, if you w^ould meet me on 
the wing of Pegasus, or any other convenient place 
you will appoint in the upper regions, for it does 
not seem provable that we shall soon see each oth- 
er in these below." 



" Shirley, October 5, 1795. 

'•'■ I have been longer than I intended (according 
S.o custom) in answering your kind letter, and now 
I know not where this will find you. I will however 
direct to Bath, hoping your comfortable party is not 
. et dissolved, though I have little chance of finding 
}'ou together, as the time of our transplantation ap- 
pears very uncertain, and probably is not very near. 
It was very good of you to wish for me by the sea- 
side, and I know nothing I should have enjoyed so 
much as seeing it for the first time with you; but I 
cannot help thinking the companions you had were 
more agreeable than I should have been. I should 

* On the Duties of Man. 



MISS smith's life. 53 

like to see what you and your " thoughts and refiec- 
tions'^ produced. 

*' I am quite delighted with you for teaching our 
dear friend German, and with her for learning it. 
You know we have always set our hearts upon her 
reading it, and only half enjoyed our favourite books 
while she could not partake of our pleasure. 

*' I have not seen Gellert. Oberon I have read 
and was much pleased with some parts of it. It is 
a little in the style of Ariosto. Pray tell Miss Sur- 
ges, (since she does me the honour to inquire,) that 
of Spenser's lesser poems I was most pleased with 
Astrophel, some of the Eclogues, particularly Janu- 
ary and June, and the Hymn in honour of Beauty, 
which is as well written as if he had studied Lava- 
ter. I have just finished Froissard, which, though 
rather tedious, I found very entertaining, and in a 
much pleasanter style than most of the modern 
French writers. Immediately before this great un- 
dertaking, I read the Memoirs of Petrarch, which 
made a very good line of history, containing the 
vi^hole of the fourteenth century. With this book I 
was excessively pleased. It is impossible not to 
love Petrarch, if it were only for crying when his 
father threw Cicero and Virgil into the fire. He 
was a passionate admirer of CicerQj, and I think ^ 



54 MISS smith's lif^* 

strong resemblance may be traced between dieir 
characters, though the circumstances in which they 
lived were so different. You see in both the same 
love of glory, the same patriotism, the same high 
opinion of himself, which he endeavours to conceal 
from others, perhaps even from himself, by a cloak 
of humility. You discover in each an equal warmth 
of friendships and I cannot help thinking that if Ci- 
cero had met with Laura, or Petrarch had been 
consul in the flourishing times of the Roman Re- 
publick, the former would have been the poet, and 
the latter the orator. I hope I have improved a lit- 
tle in Botany this summer as well as you." 

"iT/arc/i3, 1796. 
*^ Have you seen Mason's new volume of Poems? 
There are some very beautiful things in it. I have 
been feasting lately on German poetry. The Graff 
von Stolberg; Holty; Matthison; and a translation 
of Young. I have been much pleased with Zim- 
merman's Nationalstoltz, 

" My ears are stunned, and my patience exhaust- 
ed, by the ridiculous and contradictory reports that 
are incessantly vociferated on all sides of me. No 
one can speak or write of any thing but the French. 
If they have not murdered or enslaved our persons, 
they have at least taken complete possession of our 



M'ISS;SMITH S LIFE. 55 

minds, and banished every idea of which they are 
not the object. As you probably hear as much, and 
are as tired of them as myself, I will only assure 
you, that they have not driven from my brain the 
idea of you, nor from my heart the tender affection 
with which I am, &c." 

On the 22d of May, 1796, Mrs. and Miss Smith 
set out for Ireland, where they staid only three or 
four months. The following letter was written the 
day before Elizabeth left Bath. The dejection ex- 
pressed in it was occasioned by sorrows of a very 
different description from the loss of fortune. 

^' Bath, May 21. 
" My lazy fit has lasted so long this time, that I 
dare not venture to make any apology for it, and 
scarcely should I dare write again, but that I can- 
not resolve to quit this island without once more 
assuring my dear friend, that my esteem and affec- 
tion are not in the least abated by absence, and that 
I love her exactly as much as if I had told her so an 
hundred times over. 

" My mother and I set off to-morrow morning for 
Ireland. Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby 
have sent us a most obliging invitation to their house, 
and I hope we shall pass a day and a ni§fit there.— 



3^6 KISS SlUI^u's LITE. 

Do you not envy us this visit.^ If we could carry you 
and our beloved friend with us, it would be more^ 
than earthly happiness. On the whole, I am ex- '^ 
tremely pleased with the idea of our expedition; for 
besides my natural love of rambling, and of seeing 
and knowing every thing that is worth the trouble, i 
i am weary of the world. To quit it is not in my 
power; but in leaving England, I shall leave the only . 
world with which I am acquainted, the scene of all 
our miseries. You never before heard me complain 
of miseries. I never before had any to complain of. 
Against this negative pleasure in quitting this coun- 
try, is to be set the positive pain of leaving some 
very dear friends; but I seldom see you and Miss 
Bowdler, and I shall still have the consolation of 
loving you. I shall leave my Kitty with great re--- 
gret, but we must learn to bear it. We are happy 
in the thoughts of seeing my Father, who has been 
very uncomfortably situated during the last year. — 
We talk of returning in the autumn, and I am glad 
it is talked of, because it makes my mother quit 
England with less reluctance than she otherwise ' 
would; but I strongly suspect that we shall either 
take up our abode in Ireland, or go abroad wherev- 
er the regiment may happen to be ordered; ' but this 
is written in the book of fate, and no human eye can 
read it.' I am grieved at going from Bath just be- 
fore you come, i have not seen you these two years, 



MISS smith's lue. -57 

and I may be drowned, I may never return, I may 
never see you again till ' the life to come.' By the 
by, have you read Lavater's Geheime Tagebuck^ 
^c.P There is in it a quotation from a sermon by 
his friend Pfenningen, so exactly like your little 
book, that I wanted you to read it with me. I can 
give you no account of my studies, but that I have 
read nothing in the last half year. 

" My Mother and I are going this morning to 
breakfast with, and take leave of our dear Miss 
Bowdler, though I believe I shall not be so satisfied, 
but make a push to see her again after dinner, which 

! is the only time besides breakfast that she has to 

: spare from her constant attendance on poor Mrs. 

^ Bowdler. I wish you were here to comfort her; she 
wants it sadly. As you probably will be with her 
great part of the time that we are absent, I hope con- 
stantly to hear of her from you. Do not forget me, 
and be assured whatever changes may happen to 
me, of fortune, or habitation, my sincere affection 

' for my Mary will never change. Adieu, perhaps 
forever!'* 

The visit in LangoUen Vale more than answered 
the expectation of my friends, and the very obliging 
manner in which they were received, was highly 
gratifying to me. I had a letter from Miss Smith on 



58 MISS SMITH S LirE. 

I 

this subject, which I particularly regret; but it was 
destroyed with many others. Mrs. and Miss SmitliJ 
were much pleased with what they saw of Ireland,'' 
and very grateful for many civilities received there; 
but I have nothing written at that time to Miss 
Hunt, except the following short letter. ' 



" Sl'igo, August 8, 1796* \ 

" 1 have not time to say half what I think and feel 
in answer to your last letter, my dearest Maryj I 
will call you so since you like it, though I had forgot; 
that I was ever so impertinent as to do it before. I 
frequently wish for you and our beloved friend, to 
make you wander through a valley, between moun- 
tains tossed together in ail the wild and rugged-^ 
forms imaginable, with an hundred cascades dash- 
ing from their summits, and forming a beautiful 
lake at the bottom; to shew you the fine effects of 
light and shade on the hills when the sunshines; 
and when he does not, the clouds hiding their) 
heads, descending halfway down them, and some-s 
times entirely blotting them out of the landscape; 
then breaking away by degrees, and ascending like 
smoke. I never before knew so well what Ossian 
meant by the thick mist of the valley, and the ragged 
skirts of a cloud as it sails slowly over the dark 
heath. I often think I see the grey cloud of which ' 



MISS smith's lite. -^^ 



lis Mier's robe is made. I hope we may meet m 
:he winter; but sometimes I almost despair. How- 
iver, I shall not be less in one place than another, 
.our tenderly affectionate friend." 

Mrs. and Miss Smith spent four months in Ire- 
land, and returned to Bath in October. At Kings- 
lon-Lodge, the seat of the late venerable Earl of 
Kingston,* they passed some weeks; and the happi- 
ness they enjoyed there, was always mentioned by 
them with the warmest gratitude. From thence they 
removed with Captain Smith to the Barracks at 
Sligo, and Elizabeth wrote the following letter to 
Lady Isabella King, in whose friendship and cor- 
respondence she thought herself particularly happy; 
and who has favoured me with some extracts from 
fher letters, which I hope will not be uninteresting 
[to those who value the unstudied effusions of a 
grateful and affectionate heart. 

TO THE LADY ISiVBELLA KING. 

, ^'Sltgo, 1796. 

"A thousand thanks to my dearest Lady Isabella 
charming letter. It is the first comfort I 
^ -tice we parted, for every thmg has 

;..rdT fattier to the late, and grandfather to the present 



60 MISS smith's life. 

conspired to remind us of what we were otherwise 
not at all disposed to forget,— the happiness we en- 
joyed at Kingston-Lodge. \ 

**We were most completely wet long before we 
reached Sligo, and when we did arrive, we had 
every thing to unpack, beds to contrive, &c. &c. 
All our fatigues however are at length over, and I ' 
liope we shall now go on tolerably well. We have <^ 
a pretty view of a bay of the sea, which looks like a 
lake, and some fine mountains. How much more 
beautiful should I think this scene, if you were look- 
ing at it with me! 

"We are all very well, and much amused with 
the little misfortunes that happen to us. You ask 
what we have been doing, saying, and thinking. ' 
For the first, we have been trying to set ourselves 
in order, and receiving company. As to our v/ords 
and thoughts, except the necessary cansultations on 
what was to be done next, I believe they have been 
chiefly directed towards Kingston-Lodge. How I 
like Sligo I cannot yet tell, for the day we arrived I 
was so glad to be in it, that I did not observe how 
it looked; and yesterday it rained again, and we did 
not go out. Thus I have had no opportunity of 
looking for German books, nor do I much expect 
to find any. Most heartily do I hope that our gar- 



61 

den plan may be realized, because your Ladyship 
is one of the very few people I think worthy to un- 
derstand German. This is a high compliment, for 
in order to feel and relish it thoroughly, it is neces- 
sary to possess every quality that I most admire, 

" Lord Kingston must return sooner than Sep- 
tember, or we must stay longer, for should we be 
gone before you come to Mr. Cooper's, I shall be 
miserable. I have only time to add, and that but 
imperfectly, the sincere affection and gratitude with 
which I am ever yours, &c." 

In one of Mrs. Smith's letters to the Editor, the 
removal to Sligo is thus described; — 

"We had spent three happy weeks at the hospit- 
able mansion of Lord Kingston, from whence we set 
off on horseback for our quarters, which were about 
twenty miles distant. During the last ten miles of 
the journey it rained most heavily and without ceas- 
ing. We arrived at the Barracks dripping wet; our 
baggage was not come, and owing to the negligence 
of the Quarter-master, there was not even a bed to 
rest on. The whole furniture of our apartments 
consisted of a piece of a cart-wheel for a fender; a 
bit of iron, probably from the same vehicle, for a 
poker; a dirty deal table, and three wooden-bottom- 



62 MISS smith's life. 

ed chairs. It was the first time we had jomed the 
regiment, and I was standing by the fire, meditating 
on our forlorn state, and perhaps dweihng too much 
on the comforts I had lost, when I was roused from 
my revery by Elizabeth''s exclaiming, *0 what a 
blessing!' ^Blessing!' I replied, Hhere seems none 
left.' * Indeed there is, my dear mother; for see, 
here is a little cupboard.* I dried my tears, and 
endeavoured to learn fortitude from my daughter." 

Mrs. Smith has often mentioned to her friends 
the ingenuity, as well as good-humour, with which 
Elizabeth contrived to make a currant tart in this 
imcomfortable dwelling, when it appeared quite 
impracticable. I mention these trifling circumstan- 
ces, because I wish to convince my young readers 
that learning is not incompatible with the most mi- 
nute attention to all the peculiar duties, as well as to 
all the elegant accomplishments, which belong to 
the female character. For the same reason I think 
it right to notice Miss Smith's particular attention 
to ceconomy, when circumstances made it proper. 
No young lady dressed with more elegant simplici- 
ty, but none could do this at less expense. She made 
a gown or a cap, or any other article of dress, with 
as much skill as she displayed in explaining a prob- 
lem in Euclid, or a difficult passage in Hebrev/j and 
nothing which she thought it rigiit to do, was ever 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 63 

neglected. The modesty and simplicity of her cha- 
racter is so justly described in a letter written-^ since 
her death by her friend Thomas Wilkinson to Mrs^ 
Smith, that I hope I may be permitted to make a 
few extracts from it: — 



"Her acquirements must be allowed to have been 
wonderful; but to me the most astonishing thing is 
how she has done so much, for she never appeared 
to do any thing, and every one who saw her would 
have been more apt to have supposed her indolent 
than industrious; but though her progress of im* 
provement was silent as light, yet it was certain as 
time. In her knowledge she was as modest as in 
every thing else; never presuming to be wise on a 
discovery or a judicious observation. Always sim- 
ple, sweet, and innocent in her demeanour, she nev- 
er gave herself an air of consequence for genius, 
learning, or beauty, though she possessed them alL 
In company she kept back so much, that some 
would be in danger of forgetting she was there; but 
when called on to speak, she did it so much to the 
purpose, so pleasingly, and so unaffectedly, that one 
wished no one to speak but herself. Some might 
have supposed her of an absent cast, but nothing 
was further from her character, for Jier replies were 

* See Appej^lix. Letter IK. 



6$ MISS smith's life. 

the readiest I ever knew when information was 
wanted. Her countenance was serious, but she not 
iinfrequently smiled, and it was the smile of com- 
placency and peace." 

After a second visit at Kingston-Lodge, the ladies 
removed with Captain Smith to Lisbum, from 
whence the next letter vas written to Lady Isabella 
King. 



" Lisbum^ September 18, 1796. 
" My dearest Lady Isabella will, I hope, believe 
that I should not so long have delayed fulfilling my 
promise of writing to her, had not many impedi- 
ments come in the way. First, on our arrival here 
we recollected that no letter could reach Kingston- 
Lodge till Thursda}^; it was therefore useless to 
write on Saturday, and since that time we have been 
in constant expectation of being ordered to march: 
and as my chief object in writing to you is a selfish 
one, — to have the happiness of hearing from you, — ■ 
I waited till I could tell where to direct. I believe, 
however, it is now settled that we remain here till 
we go to England; and when that will be I know 
not. Now I have got over this tiresome preface, 
which I hate of all things, let me amuse myself with 
telling you how sincerely I regret Kingston-Lodge, 
and its kind inhabitants, and above all our little 



65 

walks in the shrubbery, which I have been wishing 
for every day since. By the by I have a little quar- 
rel with a certain lady for a speech she made me 
the last moment I saw her, importing that I should 
forget her as soon as I was gone, or some such vile 
idea. I could not quarrel at the moment, but wrote 
some verses to assure her it was impossible; they 
were however too sleepy to send, and I must con- 
tent myself with assuring her in plain prose, that 
every day, by making me feel the want of her sweet 
society, endears her to me if possible still more. 

" I forgot to tell you that we met with no acci- 
dent on our journey, except laming the horses, and 
tiring them so that we were obliged to leave them 
at Lurgan, ten miles from hence, to be led home on 
Saturday. Poor Brunette,* considering she was 
not quite well when she set out, performed surpris- 
ingly, and has now, with a few days' rest, quite re- 
covered from her fatigues. The riders were not a,t 
all tired, but much amused with their journey. The 
country on this side of Belturbet is very pretty; 
about Monaghan beautiful, composed entirely of 
green hills, rivers, lakes, and fine woods. On this 
side of Armagh, though still richly cultivated, it 
grows gradually too flat to please me, till it spreads 

* A horse which Lady EHanor King had given to Miss Smith» 

■S2 



66 MI3S smith's LirE. ^ 

about this place nearly into a plain, which, though 
it is very rich, and in general much admired, cannot 
compensate to me for the mountains about Sligo. 

" We saw on a hill, between Carrick and Bally- 
namore, an immense figure cut in stone, which the 
country people told us was Fiuhn Mac Coul, who 
you know is Macpherson's Fingal. If you can 
learn any particulars respecting it, I shall be much 
obliged to you. The only curiosity we saw besides 
was one of the old round towers that puzzle the 
Antiquarians so much at Clounish. 

*' I must tell you a piece of good fortune that be- 
fel me by the way. The Inn where we breakfasted 
at Armagh was opposite to a Bookseller's shop, and 
my mother proposed going to see if there were any 
Irish books. We went and found the first number 
of an Irish Magazine now publishing at Belfast, in 
which was a grammar, and some poems with trans- 
lations. You will suppose I have been very busy 
ever since. If you have any thoughts of learning 
the language, I would advise you to get this book. 
Pray remember me most kindly, gratefully, and res- 
pectfully, to Lady Eleanor; give my love to Misfs 
King, and to my best friend Lady Isabella say — no- 
thing;— she knows, I hope, that I love her entirely. 



;niss smith's lite. 67 

"Our little plan ol" riding with rny Father throvigh 
Scotland is impracticable, as no officer can leave his 
regiment at present. This place is head-quarters, 
which I am glad of, because we have the band, 
which is a very good one. 

" I hope you observe what a curious mistake I 
have made in beginning on the wrong side of the 
paper. — As this is a Hebrexv letter, or rather the 
letter of a fool, please to begin at the end." 



'' Bath, yanudry n,X797. 

"Fully did I intend, on receiving your Ladyship's 
long wished for letter, to obey your orders, and an- 
swer it directly. At length, after nearly a month 
has elapsed, here I am set down to begin, but when 
I shall finish is more than I know, for I have a 
strange antipathy in writing to any one I love when 
any human creature is present: it is as bad as talk- 
ing in mixed companj-. I foel a sort of restraint 
which extends even to my ideas, and I cannot think 
freely. I carry this so far, that I do not like to 
read a book which interests me when any one is 
present, and always make to myself a kind of soli- 
tude by hiding my face with it when I come to a 
passage which particularly pleases me. I believe 
this is a sort of pride which cannot bear to expose 



C8 

its feelings to observation. Whatever may be the 
cause, so it is; and I have been waiting in hopes of 
being left alone to write to my dearest Lady Isabel- 
la. It has never happened till to-day; for there are 
so many of us that we have no separate rooms, but 
all sit constantly together. Do not consider this as 
an apology for not writing sooner; apologies are the 
first things we should banish from our new corres- 
pondence, as being weeds which are apt to overrun 
the whole letter, to the destruction of every plant 
of common sense which possibly might otherwise 
fill their place. Your Ladyship's first rule will 
stand instead of all apologies. Secondly, for the 
liberty of talking nonsense; I must grant what I beg 
to be allowed for myself: moreover, I should hate 
a letter which contained nothing but good sense; it 
would be as dull as those assemblies where people 
meet to talk sense, and no one dares utter a syllable. 
Thirdly, you shall change your subject, break off 
and begin again, and play as many variations as you 
please. As to not writing to me for six months, I 
do not feel myself sufficiently disinterested to grant 
that with my own free will; though it is not in my 
power to help myself, if you will not write to me, 
tmd I certainly never shall harbour any suspicion or 
distrust, for there is nothing to which I have such a 
decided aversion. Were I to say that I should not 
find pleasure in reading your Ladyship's letters, in 



:miss smith's life. 69, 

whatever number of scraps and hamoiirs they were 
written, I hope you would not believe me. As for 
the hand-writing, it is a maxim of mine, that who- 
ever writes me a copper-plate letter, does not love 
me, and vice versa. I never can take pains, though 
at best my hand is very bad, except when I am 
writing a stiff letter to somebody I care not a button 
about. Finally, I never read any thing out of a 
letter, except it be some article of news, or some 
common-place observation, because I think that 
what is most interesting to the person to whom the 
letter is addressed, is exactly what the rest of the 
world will hear with indifference, perhaps with ridi- 
cule, as not understanding or entering into the sen- 
timents of the writer. 

" MjT" mother has read Camilla. I have not, be- 
ing at present quite taken up with some delightful 
German books. Indeed I never shall be satisfied 
till you learn German. There is one book which 
you may and must read directly^ ' The Italian-.'* 
I will say nothing of its contents. 

" We heard from my Father about a week ago. 
He was at Newtown- Ards, and very well. Amidst 
all our fears on the subject of the French invasion, 
(though I cannot say mine were ever very great,) 
we could not help encouraging some faint hope that 



70 MISS SMITH S LIFE- 

Bath might be thought a safer place than IrelaitU 
for the Kingston family; and if our good neighbours 
the Messieurs had done no more harm, we would 
have made them very low curtsies, and thanked 
them with all our hearts. Our Millennium Hall 
scheme appears so distant, that I fear we shall be 
grown cross disagreeable old maids before we can 
put it in execution. 

" I beg you will never be at any trouble to collect 
news for me. There is nothing I care so little about, 
unless it immediately concerns the Kingston family, 
particularly one member of it, and then the smallest 
circumstance can never appear trifling to me. I do 
not by any means feel that I shall never see you 
again; on the contrary, I am persuaded that we 
shall meet in some corner or other of the earth. — 
Have the goodness to present my Mother's and my 
kindest respects to Lady Eleanor and Lord King- 
ston, and our love to Miss King. There is not room 
to tell you what to say to my dearest Lady Isabella. 

" If you see the Elphin family,* pray remember 
us most kindly to them. We are not much gayer 
here than you are at Kingston-Lodge, for we go out 

* Dr. Law, Bishop of Elphin. 



n 

very little; but that I do not regret, though I should 
enjoy it perhaps as much as other people, if I was 
in the habit of it." &c. 

The remainder of this correspondence is of later 
date, and will appear in its proper place. 

When Mrs. and Miss Smith returned to Bath iu 
October 1796, they found my Mother extremely 
ill, and from them she received every comfort which 
friendship could bestow. The kind attention which 
she always experienced from Mrs. Smith made a 
very deep impression on her heart; and it is impos- 
sible I should ever forget that to her my beloved 
parent was indebted, during the last ten years of her 
life, for some of the happiest hours she enjoyed. — 
The same unwearied kindness cheered the last days 
of her life, and supported me in one of the most 
trying scenes of 7nme* My Mother died on the 
10th of May, 1797. Miss Smith was then staying 
with us, and read three sermons to her on the pre- 
ceding evening, when she appeared uncommonly 
well. Perhaps this awful scene ir.ight give a pecu- 
liarly serious turn to a mind which was always dis- 
posed to deep reflection, and fervent piety. The 
follovfing reflections are taken from her little pock- 
et-books, and were written in 1796 and 1797* 



72 iUiis smith's life. 

'*'' I find it a very good method to write down my 
thoughts as they occur, for an idea often strikes me, 
which, turning to something else, I forget immedi- 
ately j but considering it as much as it is necessary 
to write it down, makes me more acquainted with 
the subject, and makes my thoughts more 7ni/ ow7i. 
For want of some such plan, I see people dreaming 
away their lives in inactivity of mind, without form- 
ing any opinions of their own, till from paying no 
attention to their thoughts, they come not to think 
at all." 

" When we contemplate the ways of Providence, 
we are like a person unskilled in painting, who looks 
at a half-finished picture; he is immediately struck 
with the want of harmony in the colouring, and the 
improper disposition of light and shade, and thinks 
he shows his wisdom by finding faults in the whole 
plan, and in the execution of every part; but let him 
wait till it is finished, and he will then be forced to 
acknowledge that every stroke has contributed to 
the beauty of the whole, and that what he considered 
as defects, now appear the chief beauties of the 
piece. Perhaps there is none but an artist equal to 
the painter of the picture, who can, before it is fin- 
ished, imagine what effect will be produced: unless 
then we can suppose the creature to be equal to the 
Creator, and the picture to rise up against the pain- 



ter, let us not presume to call in question the ordi- 
nances of God, but wait till his plans are accomplish- 
ed, when wc shall be convinced that ' whatever is, 
is right." 

" Is the capacity of man finite? Is God infinite ■" 
How can the finite comprehend the infinite?" 

" The pity of the world appears to be very much 
misplaced; it is entirely withdrawn from those who 
have fallen into misfortune through their own fault, 
and most liberally bestowed on the virtuous unfor- 
tunate. But the virtuous have no need of pity: they 
never can be miserable, whatever may befal them; 
and it is their place to look down with pity on the 
wicked, whether glorying in the smiles of fortune, 
or despairing at her frowns." 

" I do not see that the failure of intellect which 
we sometimes observe in old people, and in young 
ones in some cases of sickness, is any argument 
against the immortality of the soul. We are igno- 
rant how the soul will act after its separation from 
the body; but we know that during their union, 
neither can do any thing without the assistance of 
the other; therefore, when the faculties decay, we 
are not to suppose that the soul is injured, but that 
the organs, whatever they are, by which it commu- 
nicates with the body, and by which ideas are prc» 

G 



74, 

sented to it, have sustained some damage. As, it 
a man become blind, we do not say that his soul is 
changed, but that the organ by which images were 
presented to it, is injured; and accordingly if his 
eyes are cured, the soul is just as able to distinguish 
objects as ever. In the same manner, the sick per- 
son, whose nerves (or whatever it is on which the 
soul immediately acts) have recovered their tone, 
IS able to think, and speak, and understand, as form- 
erly. I'he workman is not in fault, but some part 
of his machine is out of order." 

" The most difficult vice to conquer, is pride j I 
mean a high idea of our own merits, and a spirit of 
rebellion. This came in Eve's way; she fell, and 
perhaps there is not one of her posterity who would 
not have done the same." 

*' Reason is the most unreasonable of all things, 
for without common sense to guide it, it never 
knows where to stop." 

" The most inconsistent thing in the world is to 
expect consistency of man, at the same time that we 
know him to be entirely dependant on circumstan- 
ces. What we have most earnestly wished, is often 
proved by events to have been the worst thing that 
could happen to us. We do, and must, change our 
opinions according to every circumstance that oc- 



75 

curs, unless we could know all things, and take in 
the present, past, and future, at a glance." 

" It is surprising how the opinions of the same 
person change in the course of a few years. It is 
therefore improving, as well as amusing, to write 
down the thoughts that occur, in order to look them 
over after some time, and see in what respects I 
may have advanced, in what receded, and rectify 



" I have no idea of heaping up money, or of any 
pleasure of saying so much is mine; it is not mine 
till I use it. I shall therefore, whenever I have any, 
lay it out as I find proper occasions; trusting to that 
Providence which has never suffered me to want, 
even when I had no probable means of subsisting, 
to supply me v/hen I stand in need. Never refuse 
to give ta-day, lest you should want to-morrow." 

" How light are all the troubles of this world to 
those who value every thing it contains according 
to its real worth! They may appear insensible to 
those who reckon by a diiferent standard, but they 
can bear even this imputation, for they know the 
valu^e of human applause. How happy should we 
be, if we could ?ihvays feel as we sometimes thinkP'' 

" I cannot bear to hear people say, ' such a per- 
son did me a favour, but I have returned it, and am 



no longer obliged to him.* If any one does me a 
favour, without the least expectation or wish of a 
reward, though it should afterwards be in my power 
to do ten times more for that person, I can never 
repay the original obligation, from which its nature 
does not admit of any recompense, but remains for- 
ever in its full force.*' 

" One great cause of the republican spirit 
which prevails at present, appears to have been a 
false principle in education; that it is necessary to 
convince a child by reason before you expect him to 
obey. Now reason, being the faculty of comparing 
ideas already presented to the mind, cannot exist in 
a child, to whom few or no ideas have been present- 
ed; and no one was ever convinced by the reasoning 
of another. It is therefore impossible to convince 
him; and if he be suffered to do as he please till he 
be capable of reasoning, it is a great chance if his 
imderstanding be not so warped by the practice of 
evil, that he mistake it for good; and it is most pro- 
bable that he may have contracted such a habit of 
disobedience, as not willingly to submit to the laws 
of his country, or even to those of his God." 

" The progress of understanding is like learning 
to play on a musical instrument. Education does 
not create it, any more than a musick-master creates 



MISS Smith's life. 77 

lingers, it only gives us the power of using them 
rightly. Give an instrument to a person who has 
never heard musick, and who is ignorant of the 
^principles of it, he will probably produce some 
sound, but it will be discordant and without mean- 
ing. This I should suppose the state of a man who 
has always lived on a desolate island by himself. Ho 
will have found the use cf his bodily organs, but 
will scarcely have discovered his mental faculties. 
On the contrary, a person who has been taught the 
principles of musick, makes himself perfectly ac- 
quainted with them by practice, till from playing the 
musick of others, he at length composes new on the 
same principles; as he learns to use his understand- 
ing first by reading and hearing the opinions of oth- 
ers, and then forms his own. Thus the soul and 
body are reciprocally as the musician and the in- 



" I find nothing so effectual in abating self-con- 
ceit as to look on people who evidently have quite 
as high an opinion of themselves in any given res- 
pect,,» I have, and to see that they are mistaken.-^ 
It is very possible I may be so too." 

** It is the fashion now to consider the abilities of 
women as being on an equality with those of men. 
I do not deny that there may be many women whose 
abilities, and still more their powers of conversa- 

g2 



J 6 :^IiSS SMITH' S LIFE. 

tion, are superiour to those of the generality of men; 
but there never was among women a Milton, a 
Newton, &c." 

" The more talents and good qualities we have 
received, the more humble we ought to be, because 
we have the less merit in doing right." 

" How very narrow are all the limits of the hu- 
man understanding! Our situation in this world is 
likethatofaperson groping about in the dark. What- 
ever path of science we turn into, we meet with no 
obstacles that may not easily be surmounted, we 
flatter ourselves that we have made great discove- 
ries, and think there will be no end of our progress 
till we perfectly understand every thing; when on a 
sudden we knock our heads against the mud walls 
of our habitation,' and are beat back by the blow to 
the centre of ignorance from whence we set out." 

" No event which I thought unfortunate has ever 
happened to me, but I have been convinced, at some 
time or other, that it was not a misfortune, but a 
blessing. I can never then in reason complain of 
any thing that happens, because I am persuaded 
it is permitted for some good purpose." 

" I am surprised, on observing my thoughts, to 
find how very rarely they are employed in any thing 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 7^ 

tvorth thinking about, how seldom they are even 
common sense. Conscience tells me that a great 
part of my life is wasted in foolish imaginations and 
idle dreams." 

'• We cannot have a more striking proof of the 
incapacity of man, than the methods he takes to hide 
from himself his own ignorance. When he meets 
with any thing in nature which he can neither ex- 
plain nor understand, he invents a name, by which 
he imposes on the world with an appearance of wis- 
dom; and sometimes even fancies himself wise, 
because he has not acknowledged his ignorance. — 
For instance, we pretend to know what it is that 
moves the planets in their orbits, and we call it at- 
traction; though it is plain we are no wiser than if 
the word had never been used. We meet with a 
fossil ©f which we cannot account for the formation, 
a plant or an animal differing from any we have be- 
fore seen, we say it is a liisi/s natures. Some person 
is affected with a disorder we do not understand, it 
is immediately said to be nervous. If two or three 
of our acquaintance are affected in the same man- 
ner, it is a disorder that goes about, it is in the air; 
though perhaps the air has no more to do with it than 
any of the other elements; and each person, after 
j uttering one of these wise sentences, sits down sat- 
isfied that he has completely explained his subject.'' 



80 ' 

" It is not surprising that so few, so very few 
geniuses appear in the world, if we consider how 
many circumstances are necessary to their produc- 
tion; for it is not enough that nature has given a bold 
and enterprising spirit, capable of the greatest un- 
dertakings, if the shell it inhabits is rooted to one 
spot, and compelled to labour for daily bread: it is 
not enough that she has created a poet, if the mind, 
full of ardour and enthusiasm, be doomed to plod 
the dull round of trade. She has in vain bestowed 
the faculty of deep investigation, and of tracing the 
hidden causes of things, on one, who in the con- 
stant hurry of action, finds no leisure for medita- 
tion; or given to a woman a spirit of curiosity able 
to make useful discoveries in every branch of sci- 
ence, which, from a narrow prejudice, must be con- 
fined to the affairs of her neighbours. Thus I am 
persuaded genius often exists, but lies concealed, 
sometimes even from the possessour of it, for want 
of occasions to call it forth." 

"They are most vain, who say they have no 
vanity: for no one ever thought that the want of 
vanity he boasts of, proceeded from want of merit; 
he tather thinks that he excels all mankind in hav- 
ing a mind superiour to vanity; and what is this 
bpinion but the summit of vanity?" 



MISS SMITH S LU.F 81 

•'Tiie greatest misfortune in the world is to have 
more learning than good sense." 

" Many people find fault with those who study 
languages, and say they study only words, and for- 
get ideas; but those who do so never will learn any 
1 number of languages, for it is totally impossible to 
remember so great a number of words as is contain- 
ed in one language without affixing ideas to them. 
The truth is, those who learn languages to any pur- 
pose, study ideas only^ through the medium of 
words their signs. Unless we clearly understand 
the sign, w^e cannot comprehend the thing signified. 
Those who consider this matter at all, must acknow- 
ledge that there are very few words in the English 
language which have any meaning in English, but 
that they are chiefly derived from the Saxon, 
French, Latin, Greek; and those again from the 
Hebrew, and other eastern languages. It follows 
therefore, that those only who understand all those 
I languages, (perhaps many more might be added,) 
perfectly understand English; and those who are 
! acquainted with none of them, speak the words 
they have learnt from custom, like a parrot, but 
without clearly understanding the ideas which are 
meant to be conveyed by them. The study of lan- 
guages is therefore not only pleasing and profitable 
for the sake of reading the poetry, and other books 



S2 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

which cannot be translated; but it gives a mucii 
higher relish for the beauties bf our own language, 
by enabling us to feel the force of every expression, 
which a common reader passes over without obser- 



"Those who know a little are very anxious toi 
reform every thing; those who know more, are: 
convinced of the impossibility of complete reforma- 
tion, and therefore are inclined to leave everything; 
as they found it. Those who understand French, 
or Latin, or German, derive all English words from 
whichever of those languages they happen to b&, 
acquainted with, and endeavour to write and pro-- 
nounce them accordingly; and certainly our Ian-- 
guage has suffered much from these pretended re- 
formers. On the contrary, if they were to make 
themselves acquainted with all the languages above 
mentioned, they would probably discover that they 
had been mistaken in many of their etymologies. 
The English tongue is perhaps more mixed than 
any other, and its corruptions are chiefly owing to 
half-learned reformers. This reasoning is applica- 
ble to all schemes oi gejieral reformation. We had 
better not meddle with what we do not understand; 
and if we put the question /^ow^, what is it that we 
do understand?" 



MISS smith's life, 8 J 

'' il appears to me probable, that in the original 
anguage, all the nouns, and the roots of verbs, 
which were the third person singular of the pret^ 
^rite,) were monosyllables, perhaps consisting of 
lot more than two letters; and that from thence the 
lifFerent tenses of the verbs, and the derivations of 
he nouns, were formed by the addition of a letter 
>efore or after. The confusion at Babel might 
:onsist in some men's being deprived of the power 
•f pronouncing certain letters." 

" From the little information I can collect by 
racing languages towards their source, it appears 
robable that when the inhabitants of the earth 
[uarrelled at Babel, and dispersed in consequence, 
iam turned, as is generally allowed, towards Afri- 
a, where Egypt was afterwards called by his name, 
nd that of his son Misraim. Shem remained in 
he western parts of Asia, and spread from thence 
ver Europe. This opinion is founded on the very 
trong traces of the Persian language which yet 
emain in the Celtick and all European tongues, not 
xcepting Greek and Latin; though the modern 
^ersian, with which I compare them, is itself de- 
ived from the Pehlevi, the ancient language of 
'ersia, which probably had a much greater affinity 
71th the Celtick. Noah says, in the 9th chapter of 
jcnesis, *May God exteud Japhet, and may he 



3-1 MISS SMilii S J.IFJ:. 

■ iiherit the tents of Shem.' In the 10th chapter itis 
said, that the islands were peopled by the descend- 
ants of Japhet. From these circumstances I con- 
clude that the family of Japhet went eastward from 
Babel, till, coming to the sea, some went over it to 
the islands within sight, which form the Eastern 
Archipelago; and others followed the coast north- 
wards, till they came to some point from whence 
they could see America. Thither some of them 
^vent; while others spread themselves westward^, 
and these people I take to be the barbarians of th© 
north, who afterwards overran all Europe, and who! 
were the same as the w^andering Tartars, their 
brethrei), now are. Thus the prophecy is fulfilled, foi 
Japhet is indeed extended, and at this day inhabits j 
the tents of Shem all over Europe. This theory 
s^ems to me to derive great force from the simila< 
rity of manners between the wandering tribes of th« 
north, the Tartars, and the Americans; for thougl 
some nations of America, from a long residence ii 
one place, have acquired a degree of civilization 
yet there is always a tradition of their having beei 
in a wild state. It is reasonable to suppose, tb 
descendants of Japhet, in constantly travelling 
about, would lose all the knowledge they had gaine< 
from Noah, except such as was absolutely neces 
sary for their subsistence. We find the descendant 
of Shem alone, who t-eraained nearly stationar\ 



KISS smith's lite. 85 

and the Egyptians and Chinese who settled soon 
after they left Babel, had leisure to cultivate the 
sciences before the elements of them were lost. 
From my ignorance of the Chinese language, I am 
at a loss to determine whether the inhabitants of 
China are descended from Shem or Japhetj the 
position of the country would incline one to believe 
the latter, though their manners, so unlike their 
Tartar neighbours, seem to contradict it; yet this 
objection may be done away by supposing them to 
settle immediately after the dispersion, which ap- 
pears probable from their reckoning the cycle of 
sixty years from a period so remote as 2277 B. C. 
which answers exactly to the building of Babel. 
Their language consists entirely of monosyllables, 
which, with their known dislike of innovation in 
every thing, inclines me to think that it may perhaps 
differ less than any other from the original language, 
or at least from that of Noah." 

"We laugh at Erostratus for setting fire to the 
temple of Diana at Ephesus, that his name might 
be remembered; but however ridiculous and foolish 
his ambition might be, it was the same which has 
always influenced and annoyed mankind. Even so 
early as an hundred years after the deluge, we have 
a great instance of it recorded, in all men's joining 
in building the tower of Babel, 'to make themselves 



86 MISS SMITH'S LIFE. 

a name.' Since that time, to what end has Alex- 
ander, and all the other conquerors of antiquity, 
waded through blood, if not to be talked of, and 
that their names might be remembered? Even a- 
mongst those we call barbarians, the warriour rushes 
headlong into danger, that the song of the Bard 
may rise in his praise, and his deeds of valour be 
remembered. Nor is the mischief of this passion 
confined to bloodshed. Men will overturn all the 
principles of the world, and publish the most extra- 
vagant doctrines, merely to be talked of. It is 
surely impossible that Hume could believe his own 
system; he was only voracious of literary fame. 
The same might be said of Voltaire and his associ- 
ates. It was the vanity of advancing something 
new, and making a revolution in the opinions of 
men, which prompted them in their writings. The 
passion was given to excite us to good deeds; but 
when men have no disposition to distinguish them- 
selves by what is good^ they fix on some splendid 
emly which will be the most universally felt, and 
consequently the most talked of. To this cause 
must in a great measure be attributed the variety 
of opinions which exist in the world on every sub- 
ject; some of them so very absurd, that it is impos- 
sible to suppose their authors could believe in them. 
Perhaps he thinks himself the cleverest man, who 
can persuade the world to believe the most impro- 
bable fiction.** 



:miss smith's life. 85' 

What I have here transcribed, and much that is 
irrecoverably lost; the acquisitions in science which 
I have endeavoured to trace out, as well as. the 
virtues, to which I should in vain endeavour to do 
I justice; were comprised in the short period of a life 
|not yet extended beyond the twenty-first year: and 
many of those years were spent without a home, 
and without a library, and under the pressure of 
afflictions, which, however nobly supported, "taught 
even youth and innocence to mourn." Such was 
the life, which, when compared with the standard 
of perfection at which she aimed, appeared in her 
own eyes to call -for the reflections that conclude the 
litde book I have just transcribed, and which are 
dated January tst, 1798. 

" Being now arrived at what is called years of 
discretion, and looking back on my past life with 
shame and confusion, when I recollect the many 
advantages I have had, and the bad use I have 
made of them, the hours i have squandered, and 
the opportunities of improvement 1 have neglected; 
— w^hen I imagine what with those advantages I 
ought to be, and find myself what I am: — I am 
resolved to endeavour to be more careful for the 
Future, if the future be granted me; to try to make 
amends for past negligence, by employing every 
moment I can command to some gopd purpose; to 



88 

endeavour to acquire all the little knowledge that 
human nature is capable of on earth, but to let the 
word of God be my chief study, and all others sub- 
servient to it; to model myself, as far as I am able, 
according to the gospel of Christ; to be content 
while my trial lasts, and when it is finished to re- 
joice, trusting in the merits of my Redeemer. I 
have written these resolutions to stand as a witness 
against me, in case I should be inclined to forget 
them, and to return to my former indolence and 
thoughtlessness, because I have found the inutility 
of mental determinations. May God grant me 
strength to keep them !"* 

During the winter of 1797 and 1798, which Miss 
Smith spent at Bath, and the following summer, 
when she was first at Conway, and afterwards at 
Plashently near Oswestry, she wrote the following 
letters to Lady Isabella King and Miss Hunt. 

* Of this paper Mrs. Smith says, " I firmly believe this : 
prayer was accepted, for I do not recollect any instance in 
which she could justly be accused of either indolence or thought- 
lessness, except on the subject of her health; on that point 
she trusted too much to the strength of a naturally good con- 
stitution; and had so little confidence in human skill, that she 
neglected such means in the commencement of her last illness^ 
as in all probability would have removed it " 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 89 

TO THE LADY ISABELLA KING. 

''Bath, Sept, 6, 1797. 
** I did promise, and thought it at the time a 
stretch of complaisance, to wait patiently six months 
for a letter, in case your Ladyship should be attack- 
ed by a fit of laziness; but I did not answer for my 
patience enduring eight. In truth I have been very 
impatient, though I have not accused you of incon- 
stancy, and thought you had given up all acquaint- 
ance with me; as I never suspect any one who I am 
once convinced loves me, of ceasing to do so, unless 
I give them some cause of offence. However I have 
no right to complain, now that your dear letter is 
arrived; but I wish that you would oftener give me 
an opportunity of thanking you for such an one. 

" Your Ladyship is building castles. You set 
my curiosity at work, and do not gratify it. Is one 
of them a journey to Bath next winter? Do let it be 
soon, for we are building castles too, and shall be 
flown in the spring. We are going, to my great 
satisfaction, to settle somewhere in a cheap and ro- 
naantick country. My Father says Ireland; but 
my Mother is terribly afraid of throat-cutting, and 
talks of Wales, Scotland, or the Lakes in Cumber- 
land; and seems most inclined to the neighbour- 
hood of Derwentwater, which in point of scenery 
is the finest thing I know, and if «iy Father could 

h2 



^ MISS SMITHES LIFE. 

come to us when he liked it, I should be perfectly 
content. The plan of our house is made, and our 
different employments allotted to each of us. Kitty 
is to work in the garden under my Mother's in- 
spection; Juliet is to feed the poultry; and I am to 
manage tl;e dairy; so you see our castle is in great 
forwardness, if a puff of wind does not blow it away. 
Now you 7mist give me some hopes of seeing you 
this winter, for we shall perhaps never come to Bath 
again, and you will not take the trouble of going to 
Keswick to see us. 

" When will Lady Oxmantown come? If she does 
not make haste. Miss Bowdler's Essay, which we 
have long had ready, will be printed; for Mrs. 
Bowdler at her death left to each of her friends a 
copy of her daughter's works, instead of a ring, and 
our friend is going to print a handsome edition on 
purpose, with the additional Essay.'^ 

*' Will you have the goodness to remember us in 
the kindest manner to our Elphin, as well as to our 
Kingston friends. I want to know a great many 
particulars about each individual, even to Aliciarf 

* "Essay on the duties and advantages of sickness," first 
printed in the 10th edition in quarto of Poews and Essays by 
the late Miss Bowdler, in 1798. 

^>'^ Lady Isabella King's horse. 



we have never heard whether she has recovered 
from the effects of her fall. 

" This night it will be exactly a year since I saw 
you last, when you came into my room and sat be- 
side me — I cannot think y^r the last time* Do not 
you like making ' des bouts de I'an,' as Madame 
de Sevigne calls it? I am particularly fond of it.— ^ 
The anniversary seems to bring the former event 
more immediately present to the imagination than 
any intervening day; if that event has been happy, 
we enjoy it over again in the recollection; if unfor- 
tunate, there is yet a pleasing melancholy in the re- 
petition of every circumstance of it. It is like Os- 
sian's soft musick, ' pleasing yet mournful to the 
soul.^ — Talking of musick, my Mother has bought 
me a Welsh Harp with the money that Brunette is 
to sell for. I call the harp Brunette, in memory of 
Lady Eleanor's kind present, and am very busy 
teaching myself to play upon it. 

"Have you ever made any inquiries for me about 
the statue of Fiuhn Mac Caul, near Carrick? It ap- 
peared to us a very curious thing. I am abused 
here as an apostate, but I am half inclined to think 
that Ossian was an Irishman, and I want to know 
every thing that can throw Kght on the subject. It 
is said,Macpherson ordered the originals to be pub- 
lished after his death; if so, we shall soon be bet- 



92 MI33 SMITH S LIXE. 

tcr enabled to judge. You must excuse me if I 
plague you too much on this subject. I am mad 
about Ossian; — but I am mad about several things 
—about a great many things ; particularly about 
some German books, which you inust read before I 
can rest. I am teaching Miss Bowdler German, 
because I must have some one to enjoy them with 
me. 

" I do not know whether you have any taste for 
mechanicks. If you have, perhaps you will like to 
have a description of a very clever thing which is 
now making near Bath; if not, it is easily past over. 
It is called a Cassoon;* the use of it is to convey 
boats, on a canal, down a hill, without the help of 
locks. It is a great box, forty feet long, placed in 
a pit sixty feet deep, and full of water; the surface 
of which water is on a level with the upper canal, 
and the bottom of the pit is even with the lower ca- 
nal. When a boat is to be carried down, the door 
at the top of the pit is opened, and the boat swims 
into the Cassoon, which is half full of water. The 
Cassoon door is then shut, and being made, by the 
addition of a small quantity of water, heavier than 
the water in which it swims, it sinks to the bottom; 

* This ingenious contrivance failed of success, from the dif- 
ftculty of securing the masonry of the pit against the unequal 
fressure of the water. 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 93 

when the door at the bottom of the pit, and the door 
at the other end of the Gassoon, being opened, the 
boat goes out into the lower canal. The Cassoon 
rises again, as it is then lighter than the water in 
the pit. I do not know whether I have made this 
account intelligible, but it is very curious to see, and 
if you will come and look at it, you shall understand 
in a minute! The inventer was a carpenter. 

" Now you must not, my dearest Lady Isabella, 
abuse me for sending you a stupid letter. You bid 
me " write soon^ if I loved you.*' I did not consid- 
er whether I had any thing to say, but obeyed, and 
I leave you to draw the inference." 

« Bath, November 18, 1797. 
" Most sincerely do I sympathize with you, my 
dearest Isabella, in every event which concerns you, 
but particularly in what regards the excellent Lord 
Kingston, for whom I feel so much interested on 
his own account, as well as on yours. O that I could 
indeed do you any good ! that I could sooth your 
sorrows, and assist you in all your tender attentions 
to ease the bed of sickness; or, if it must be so, help 
you to bear the pain of parting, supported by the 
hope of meeting again! But at this distance I can 
offer you nothing but words, and they are poor com- 
fort; you can find enough of them every where, 
though you will not every where find a heart so 



94 • 

tenderly interested in your happiness as mine.— ~I 
entreat you to let me Imowhow you go on. If the : 
disorder should be so far removed that you could I 
come to Bath, I must indulge a hope, though you i 
have forbidden me." 



" Bath^ January 17, 1 ^98. 

" Long since should I have written to my beloved 
Lady Isabella, had I not feared that my letters 
would be ill-timed, in the midst of many sorrows . 
which, though I sincerely sympathized, I could not 
alleviate, and therefore was cautious not to disturb; 
but no sooner do you kindly say that you will read 
my letters, than I hasten to renew an intercourse 
which gives me infinite pleasure, whenever it is my 
turn to receive a letter. The writing one I should 
consider as a task, if there was not a pleasure in in- 
dulging the idea of you, which makes even that 
agreeable. I felt almost as if I had lost my own 
Father, when I heard of the excellent Lord Kings- 
ton's death. There is noth- 
ing I am more thoroughly convinced of, than that 
every thing which happens is for some good pur- 
pose. We do not perhaps at the time see any pos- 
sible good that can result from anv particular event, 
but we often see it afterwards, and if we do not 
live to see it, others do. This opinion makes me 



HISS smith's life. 95 

pferfectiy easy, ^vhlle I see every body frightened 
to death at the idea of an invasion. I am persuad- 
ed that if It be for the benefit of mankind that the 
trench should conquer England, and cut my throat 
amongst the rest, they will be permitted to do so: 
^i not, they will not.^ 

'' Will you tell me any place in Dublin to which 
we might send the little Manuscript, which has 
been ready this twelvemonth ? My Mother will 
write soon. She sends kindest love to your Lady- 
ship, and begs to be respectfully and affectionately 
remembered to Lady Eleanor, in which I beg to 
join; and then will trouble you no longer than to 
assure you of my everlasting regard and affection." 

''Bath, March 8, 1798. 
" I have but one quarrel with you, my dearest 
Lady Isabella; nay not a quarrel, that is too harsh a 
ivord. I have but one fault to find with you, and it 
s this. You lay by your pen from week to week, 
n hopes of having something to say; now it is not 
hat I want. I want to know what you are doing, 
hinking, and feeling, because that interests me. If 
[ want to laugh, I can look into a book of writticisms; 
ind into a book of proverbs, if I have an inclination 
or wise sayings; but in a letter from you I wis.^ 



96 MISS SMITHES LIIK. 

to find whatever comes first into your head to write, 
as that will probably be what interests you^ and of 
course me. You will say this is only an apology for 
the letter I am going to write, but finding a conve- 
nient opportunity for writing I would not delay 
it, because if I waited for that opportunity, and a ' 
bright moment to meet, I should never write at all; 
therefore you must take me in all my dulness, if 
you wish to be troubled with my letters. 

" I feel excessively proud of the office you have 
bestowed on me, and I will begin to exercise it. — 
Have you read the Pursuits of Literature? It is a 
satirical poem. I dislike satire in general, but this 
appears to me one of the cleverest books I ever met 
with, and indeed this is the general opinion respect- 
ing it. I should not have given mine so decidedly, 
had you not particularly desired it. This book can- 
not be read less than twice; once with the notes, anc(,l 
the second time remembering the notes but not read- 
ing them. — I have read Robison on the lUuminati. 
It is said by people well informed on the subject to 
be a true representation. There is another book 
which goes much deeper into the subject, by Baruel. 
I have not read it, because I thought the other con-, 
tained quite horrours enough. We have loads of 
political pamphlets which I never read, any more 
than newspapers; because I am sure to have thef 



MISS smith's life. 97 

cream of them without the trouble of skimming it; 
but one I must recommend to you as being excel- 
lent in its way. It is written by the eldest brother 
of your favourite Miss Bowdler.'^ The title is 
'Reform or Ruin.' I believe it is now printed in 
Ireland. The little Essay shall be sent by the first 
conveyance: perhaps that may be ourselves. 

" Pray present my most affectionate respects to 
Lady Eleanor. How does her weak health bear all 
she has had to go through? Do not expect me to 
obey when you bid me forget the contents of your 
last letter, for indeed I do not intend to forget a 
word of it, though probably least of all that which 
you allow me to remember. Now pray, my dear 
Lady Isabella, write to me soon, — very soonj and 
let it not be a bright letter but a stupid one, the most 
stupid you can write, and you see I have sent you a 
foil which will make any thing you write appear 
bright as the sun. My poor brains have nothing to 
put in it but the sincerest affection of your, &:c." 

* The Author of «« Poems and Essays " published after her 
death. None of her family had at that time the honour of be- 
ing personally known to Lady Isabella King. 



.0^ jMiSs smith's life. 



TO I^IISS HUNT. 



" Comvay^ May 26. 
" Every day since I came here I have been wish- 
ng to write to you, but because you were so consi- 
derate as to bid me not do it till we were settled, 
the time has been ungratefully put off. Yet you 
have not been absent from my thoughts; — no, if I 
had thought less about all in your corner of the 
v/orld, I might perhaps sooner have felt disposed to 
write. However we are all very well and very com- 
fortable now, remembering our friends only as we 
ought, and as I trust we always shall. I wish I were 
sure that you are equally comfortable, but knowing 
your contented disposition, I am inclined to think 
you are. I think I am content; and yet to be sure 
1 should like to have.you here, and explore with you 
all the dark winding passages and broken staircases 
of this beautiful Castle. There is one of the towers 
that would make the nicest dwelling in the world. 
I am sure you would wish to inhabit it. It stands 
on a rock overhanging the river, which is more 
properly an arm of the sea, and commands the finest 
view imaginable. It consists of three circular rooms 
one over the other; in the second of which there is 
a semi-circular niche with a beautiful roof of groin- 
ed arches, supported by pillars, with a seat all 
round, capable of containing five or six people, and 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 99 

three windows looking on the river and its beautiful 
banks. To all this iairy castle there is nothing 
wanting but the possibility of getting at it, for the 
timbers are entirely gone, and I pine in vain to get 
into the little niche. It certainly would be very 
snugy filled exactly as one would wish; but any place 
would do, so filled, therefore let us be content at the 
foot of the tower. 

" I am glad our dear Miss Bowdler is so happy 
at her Tower. We have so quick communication 
with her, that it scarcely seems as if we wxre sepa- 
rated. Perhaps we are preparing by degrees for a 
more lasting separation from all our friends; but: 
our fate is still uncertain. We must make the best 
of the present, and let the future shift for itself.— 
I never felt such hot weather in May as we have 
here; but the air is uncommonly soft as well as clear, 
and in the evenings we take delightful walks, and 
find great use for our sketch-books. There is ano- 
ther circumstance that would please you; we meef 
with a great variety of beautiful plants, particularly 
the little burnet-rose grows in tufts on the moun- 
tains, in the marshes, and almost every where. W(; 
find here, indeed, every thing w^e wdsh for, excepi: 
a few old friends. Our books are not arrived, but 
that is no misfortune, for I never find time to read. 
You will wonder what we do, and really I cannot 
very well tell, except rambling about to t:-.k.e viewr, 



lOQ MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

and finishing them a little when we return home. I 
did flatter myself that here I should find time for 
every thing, but either I am a very bad contriver, 
or time does not stand still on any spot of the earth. 
If any one can catch him, I think it must be you^ 
and I am certain you will make the best use of his 
company." 

'' Conway, July 10, ir98. 

"We are grown such vagrants, that it is not with- 
out many fruitless efforts that I sit down to write, 
even to you. I believe you will not doubt that my 
inclination makes that a lighter task than if I were 
addressing myself to any one else; but I am afraid, 
if we stay much longer amongst these delightful 
scenes, I shall grow completely and irrecoverably 
idle. It is not so with you, I dare say; you are 
vStudying hard, and enjoying peace, quFetaess, and 
leisure, in your comfortable little retreat. I believe 
I should envy you, if I were not where I am. I 
often recollect how we all groaned lo^t^h^x at Bath, 
at the idea of the impieasant summer we expected 
to pass in our different lots; and comparing that 
idea with the happiness we actually enjoy, (of which 
from our want of confideiice we were so particular- 
ly undeserving,) I determine never again to be <7;?Ar- 
lous about any thing; persuaded that all events are 
much better disposed than if 1 had the management 



MISS smith's life. 101 

of them. You will think I am beginning to philo- 
sophize, because there is nothing at present to dis- 
turb me; but indeed I expect a very great misfor- 
tune. I will not think of it beforehand, nor complain 
if it happen: this is all my philosophy can do. 

" And now you must mount your old friend Pe- 
gasus, and go with me to the top of Snowdon to 
adore the rising sun. If you think your steed will 
not be tired, you may as well meet me at Caernar- 
von at five o'clock in the evening of the seventh of 
last month. You know, present, past, and future, 
are all one to your 7ime friends* Meet me then at 
Caernarvon, go with me into the Castle, ramble 
with me through dark passages v/ithout end or num- 
ber, many more than I had time to go into, for they 
are galleries, leading all round the walls, and round 
every tower, lighted only by small slits, in a w^all 
twelve feet thick, for shooting arrows; so that many 
hundred soldiers might be employed in defending 
this castle, and be visible neither without nor within. 
Ascend with me the Eagle Tower, and count if you 
can the number of steps, for indeed I forgot to reck- 
on, and having no book of travels from which to 
extract a journal, I cannot tell you. Hear Mr. C — , 
the barber, our cicerone^ very learnedly refute the 
opinion of Mr. Pennant, that Edward II, was born 
in a little dark shabby room in the tower, and esta- 



102 

blish his own, — that that event certainly took place 
in the large circular room on the first floor; acknow- 
ledging at the same time that the nurse might pos- 
sibly retire occasionally with the child into Mr. 
Pennant's room. Come on into another little room, 
and if you choose to be remembered amongst fools, 
write your name upon the planks which still remain. 
Hear a long account from Mr. C — -, of a boy being 
let down to the bottom of one of the towers, where 
there is water, to fetch up a dog that had been 
thrown there, and discovering an iron gate, through 
which he saw a subterraneous passage never yet 
explored; and hurry away from the Castle, wishing 
to spend days and weeks in examining it. 

^^Jiily 12. — I find myself so idle, and my travels 
so much more tedious in the recital than in the 
performance, that if I go on giving you a particular 
account I shall never finish. I will therefore tell 
you the rest of our adventures as briefly as possible. 
Quitting the Castle, we took a most deligb'^ful walk 
beside the river on which it stands, to observe the 
outside of the building, which, as beauty is but 
comparative, I being of the sect of the Conwayites j 
do not admire. We returned to the Inn; — I sup- 
pose you are aware that we means my Mother, 
Mrs. George Smith, and I, who set out together 
from Conway at nine the same morning ; — well; we 



103 

returned to the inn, and eat an enormous supper. 
You know travellers always tjU you how much 
they eat, but I in compassion will spare you the 
description of every dish, and how much was paid 
for it, because I have forgotten both; however this 
supper is not mentioned in vain, for indeed it was 
not eaten in vain. As soon as we had accomplished 
ity we set off (about eltiven at night) for the foot of 
Snowdon, and travelled eight miles through a fine 
mountainous country by moon light. Before one 
we arrived at a little hut where the guide lives, and 
after having him called up, and loaded with a basket 
of bread and milk, and a tin box for specimens, we 
began our march at a quarter past one. The clouds 
were gathering over the mountains, and threatening 
us with either darkness or rain. We however es- 
caped both, and were only amused with every varie- 
ty they could give the landscape, by hiding or half 
obscuring the moon, and by blotting out now erne 
mountain, and now another, from our view; till 
about two o'clock, when the dawn began to appear, 
they covered the moon, and we saw her no more. 
We proceeded by a very easy ascent over boggy 
ground till half past two, when coming suddenly to 
the top of the first range of hills, and meeting with 
a violent wind which blew from the quarter where 
the sun was to rise, (for we ascended the mountain 
on the south-west side) Mr6. G. Smith was frigh- 



104. 

tened, and seeing a very steep ascent before her, 
said she would sit down and wait for our return. 
My mother said she would stay with her, and I 
proposed our all going back together; but my mother , 
very kindly insisted on my proceeding. We there- 
fore divided provisions, the ladies returned to the. 
hut from which we had set out, and I went on with I 
the guide, who could not speak a word of English. , 
We steered our course more towards the south, 
and toiled up several mountains, in some parts 
covered with loose stones, which had fallen from 
the broken summits, but in general overgrown with 
different sorts of moss, and a kind of short grass, 
mixed with immense quantities of tht Gallium pusii- 
lum, I picked up a few other plants, but on the 
whole was disappointed in the botanical way, as I 
found very little that I had not before met with on 
the mountains in this neighbourhood; however, 
this is not the time of the year for mountain curiosi- 
ties. I went on as fast as I could, without stopping, 
except now and then for a moment to look down on 
the mountains under my feet, as clouds passed over 
them, thinking each summit I saw before me was 
the last, and unable to gain any information from 
the guide to satisfy my impatience; for I wished to 
be at the top before sun-rise, and pink clouds began 
to appear over the steep I was climbing. I; also 
Imew that the ladies would be very impatient for 



j MISS smith's life. ios 

my return; nor was I without anxiety on their 
account, as I v/as not sure they would find their 
way back to the hut. These ideas occupied my 
mind all the vfay up, and if that deceitful but com- 
forting lady — Hope, had not continually presented 
to me the range of hills I was ascending as the last 
step in ambition's ladder, I am not sure that, with all 
my eagerness to get to the top, I should not have 
turned back. I was debating this point very ear- 
nestly with myself, in ascending an almost perpen- 
dicular green slope, when on a sudden I saw at my 
feet an immense chasm, all in darkness, and of a 
depth I cannot guess, certainly not less than a hun- 
dred feet; I should suppose much more. It an- 
swers in some respects to the idea I have formed of 
the crater of a volcano, but evidently is not that, as^ 
I there is no mark of fire, the rock being composed, 
as it is in general throughout this country, of a sort 
[of slate. Nor does the mountain appear to have 
been thrown down, but the pit to have sunk in; 
'which must probably have been occasioned by sub- 
terranean waters, as there is w^ater at the bottom 
of the pit, and the mountain is full of springs. You 
I think you are now at the top, but you are mistaken. 
I am standing indeed at the top of the abyss, but 
with a high rocky peak rising on each side of me, 
and descending very near perpendicularly into the 
lake at the bottom. I have taken a rough sketch of 



106 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

one of these peaks, with the lake in the deepest! 
yhadowj I am turning over my paper, (which the 
wind renders very difficult) in order to draw ano- 
ther; — I look up, and see the upper part illuminated 
by a beautiful rose-coloured light, while the oppo- 
site part still casts a dark shade over its base, andl 
conceals the sun itself from my view. If I were 
ready to jump into the pit with delight at first seeing^ 
it, my ecstacy was now still greater. The guide; 
seemed quite delighted to see me so much pleased,, 
and took care in descending to lead me to the edge 
of every precipice, which he had not done in going 
up. I however presently recollected that I was in 
a great hurry to get back, and set off along thejj 
brink of the cavity for the highest peak, where I 
arrived at a quarter past four, and saw a view, of i 
which it is impossible to form an idea from descrip- 
tion. For many miles round it was composed of 
tops of mountains, of all the various forms that can 
be imagined; some appeared swimming in an ocean 
of vapour; on others the clouds lay like a cap of 
snow, appearing as soft as down. They were all 
far below Snowdon, and I was enjoying the finest 
blue sky, and the purest air I ever breathed. The 
whok prospect was bounded by the sea, except to 
the east and south-east, and the greatest part of the 
land in those points was blotted out by clouds. 
The sun, however, rose so iiiv towards the nortK- 



Hiss smith's ilFE. 107 

:iist us to be still hanging over the sea. I took ii 
iketch of a small part of the mountains, with 
iome of the little lakes which appear at their feet; 
5at down, for the first time, on a circle of stones 
vhich is built on the top of the hill, and made 
^reat havock in the bread and milk, in which ac- 
complishment the guide equalled, if not surpassed 
ne; and at half past four, almost frozen, I began 
o descend. My anxiety about my friends increas- 
:d as I came near the spot where I had left them ; 
made all possible haste; and found them safe in 
he hut at ten minutes past six. It certainly would 
lave been pleasanter to have had more time, and 
ome one to enjoy the expedition with me, but I 
m delighted that I have been, and would not for 
.ny thing give up the recollection of the sublime 
cene. We got into the carriage immediately, and 
vent four miles further to breakfast at a little vil- 
age, from whence we walked to the Devil's Bridge, 
vhich is fine almost beyond imagination; returned 
o Caernarvon to dinner, walked about there in the 
vening, and went to bed after thirty -7ii7ie hours 
f almost constant exercise. After this I think you 
i^ill not take the trouble to inquire after my health; 
t must be tolerably good. I intended writing a 
ery short letter, but recollecting you would per- 
haps like some news from Snowdon, I have been 
id on till I fcav your patience is exhausted, though 



108 MISS smith's LIFh. 

f have suppressed at least half of what I wish to 
say." 

" TO THE LADY ISABELLA KING. 

''Flas Uentlif, Sept. 19,1798. 
" Most sadly has your picture of happiness been 
reversed, my dear Lady Isabella. I could not bear 
to answer so pleasant a letter with lamentations, 
but I hope that your tranquillity is now restored, 
and that you are as happy as I wish you, which 
certainly is as much as you can wish for yourself. 
We have been particularly interested in the late 
invasion, because the scene of action has been aU 
our own country, about Boyle and Sligo. I hope 
no harm has happened to it, or any of its inhabitants. 
We reckoned that the French must pass close by 
Nympsfield, and feared they would choose to pay a 
visit to Mrs. O'Hara. Pray tell me all you know 
about it, when you write. 

" I conclude you have seen my Father by this 
time. When xve shall see him again, or whether we 
ever shall, seems now so uncertain, that I should be 
very unhappy if I had not left off grieving for an)^ 
thing — This is a very ugly place, and a sad change 
from Conway, where we were very happy. Wef 
are but eight miles from Llangollen, where MrsJ 
H. Bowdler now is, as well as the amiable Ladies 



xMiss smith's life. 109 

of the Vale, but we might as well be an hundred 
miles off, for we never see them. 

*' I am very glad you like the new edition of Pvliss 
Bowdler's Essays. The writer was dead before I 
knew the family; but those who have seen her, say 
the print is like, though I think they generally agree 
that it is a flattering likeness. 

''What you say of dissipation is exact!}' what I 
expected from you. You have seen so little of it 
that it was very natural you should enjo'y it at first; 
but you certainly are not made for it, and I am 
entirely of your opinion, that you must seek for 
happiness in more rational employments, for which 
you are v/ell qualified. One can allow those to 
spend their lives in folly, whose minds are incapable 
of any thing better, but such as yours should not be 
thrown away, and I am persuaded xuill not."*^ You 
will laugh at my preaching, but indeed the lack of 
new objects, and new subjects, has very nearly 
occasioned a stagnation of ideas in my mind. As 
your Ladyship says, I want something to interest 
me, and therefore I beg you to write to give a fillip 
to my ideas, which will otherwise be congealed into 

* How far Miss Smith's ideas with regard to this lady have 
been realized, is well known to the grateful inhabitants of 

Bath. 



110 KISS SMITH S LITE. 

a mass of ice this winter. I am sure you can per- 
ceive symptoms of" freezing in this letter, thouglf as 
you cannot perceive what is not, I hope you will 
never find my regard and affection for you in the 
least degree cooled. It is no compliment to say I 
should rejoice to hear from you here^ for the getting 
a letter from any body is an event; how great then 
must be my joy at receiving one w^hich would de- 
light me anywhere." 

Miss Hunt had sent the letter containing the 
description of Snowdon to our mutual friend Mrs. 
De Luc; and Miss Smith heard -that it had been 
mentioned with approbation by an illustrious lady, 
to whom Mrs. Dc Luc had read it. This circum- 
?tance will explain the next letter. 

" TO MISS HUNT. 

"S/2z>/£y, 3farch 25, 1799, 
" Unworthy as you are of a line from my pen, I 
should be very glad of a few from yours, and there- 
fore must condescend to ask for them; trusting to 
the insipidity of all I have to say, that my letter 
will not be put in the trumpet of fame, and blown 
to the four quarters of the world; for ill as you use 
your friends, I believe you have still sufficient re- 
gard for a certain Mary Hunt, not to publish that 
she is the most treacherous of human beings, 



Ill 

and that she as much deserves to be taken up for 
treason as any of his Majesty's disloyal subjects. 
Now having vented my anger, I have nothing more 
to say, but that I should be very glad to hear from 
you. 

" I have got — I will not tell you what ; a little, a 
very little book'^ always in my pocket. Mr. Clax- 
ton has given it me. It is two books bound in one, 
and contains a vast deal of wisdom; but you are a 
llab^ and shall know no more. 

" To our dear Miss Bowdler I have not written 
for a long time, because conscience stood in the 
way;- nor to some others, because Idleness and cold 
weather prevented me. Bedford is here for the 
holidays. He is very much improved, and a very 
fine boy. Give my love to all my friends; send 
me a particular account of Mrs. F. Bateman, as 
well as of your own invalids, and then I will pardon 
and obliterate all your past offences. 

" If you want to consult the Syriack translation 
ofthe New Testament upon any particular passage, 
let me know. Mr. Claxton has a very fine one, 
printed in Hebrew characters, and the language is 
so very like the Hebrew, and where it differs from 
that, so like the Arabick, that I can read it very 
well.'' 

• Sententi« Rabbinorum. 



112 MISS smith's Lirt,. 

"il%7, 1799. 
" I suppose you conclude that I am * afraid of 
being tired with your answers;' but philosophers 
sometimes draw false conclusions, and this is one 
Gi them. I cannot enter into ail the reasons for not 
writing sooner. It is enough that here I am, — 
while Mercury is vainly trying to get the better of 
Apollo, — here I am writing to you instead of watch- 
ing their conflict. It is true I have no very great 
merit in my forbearance, because I cannot see 
through the veil with which they have chosen to 
conceal themselves; therefore be not too vain in 
fancying I prefer your company to theii^. I im:l- 
glne you are at this moment visiting your neigh- 
bour, Dr. Herschell, and I desire you will commu- 
nicate to me in this nether world all the information 
you collect in your nocturnal, 33 well as diurnal, 
peregrinations to tlie heavens. I shall envy, — no, 
I will not say envy you; but I should like to go with 
you, as I should have liked to have had you with 
me in some of my late amusements, such as seeing 
the British Museum, pictures and statues without 
end, and some very curious pieces of mechanism. 

" I have just received an invitation to go and 
look at the gods through a good telescope. All in 
vaiii! I fancy we have beeij hmnbug^ed* I hav: 



MISS smith's Lllil. 113 

seen the sun as flat as a trencher, but not a bit of 
Mercury. Do tell me if it ought to be seen to-day; 
and if it ought, -what is the matter with our eyes. 

" In town, I have been reading two volumes of 
Sully's Memoirs, with which I am delighted, and 
which I mean to finish the next time I can meet 
with it. Since I came back, I have been reading 
Cicero's letters to Atticus: I cannot say that I under- 
stand every part of them, on account of many allu- 
sions to circumstances of the times, but with many 
parts I am much pleased." 

In the summer of the year 1799, Mrs. Smith 
and>all her family removed to Ireland, where Cap- 
tain Smith's regiment was still quartered. During 
their residence in that hospitable country, they re- 
ceived much kind attention, which they always 
mention with the warmest expressions of gratitude. 
The following elegant poem, which was addressed 
to Mrs. Smith when the family left Ballitore in 
1800, to reside at Patterdale, will shew the impres- 
sion their characters and conduct had made on the 
amiable and ingenious writer. 

Soft o'er the vale of Ballitore 

The gale of peace was wont to blow; 
Till discord rais'd her direful horn, 

And fill'd the shikles with sounds of woe. 
K 2 



114 



The blood-stain'd earth, the warlike bandr. 
Our trembling natives saw with dread; 

Dejected labour left her toil, 

And summer's blithe enjoyments fled. 

But see, th' avenging sv/ord is sheath 'd, 
And mercy's voice is heard at last.-» 

How sweet, beside the winter's fire. 
To ponder on the perils past ! 

Ah! think not yet your trial's o*er ; 

From yonder mountain's hollow side 
The fierce Banditti issue forth, 

When darkness spreads her curtain widss 

With murd'rous arms and haggard eyes. 
The social joys away they fright; 

Sad expectation clouds the day. 
And sleep forsakes the fearful, night. 

Now martial troops protect the vale. 
At distance prov/1 the ruffian band.— = 

Oh, Confidence ! thou dearer guard, 
Why hast thou left this luckless land ? 

We droop and mourn o'er many a joy. 
O'er many a friend to dust consign'd ;— 

But ev'ry comfort is not fled, — 
Behold, another friend we find» 

Lo, Juliet comes to grace the plain. 
And friendship claims the precious prize ; 

She grants the claim, nor does her heart 
The children of the vale despise. 



115 



A'hough polish'd life, with every charm, 
To her its brilliant scenes display'd; 

Though form'd to ornament a court, 
She deigns to dignify the shade. 

But shades more worthy of the guest 
iFrom us thisi precious prize require ; 

Guiltless of blood, with quiet blest, 
Where truth's own bard attunes his lyre.* 

Where Clarkson for the helpless pleads, 
Where nature's charms majestick rise; 

And broad Ulswater's beauteous lake 

Gives back the mountains, woods, and skies. 

There, Juliet, may thy lovely maids. 
Their pencil's wond'rous art employ; 

While each acquirement gives the powV 
To increase their tender parent's joy. 

Unknown to dissipated minds 

The joys their gentle bosoms knowi 

'Tis theirs to turn the classick page, 
'Tis theirs to melt at other's woe. 

And there, releas'd from war's alarms. 
May thy lov'd lord delighted rove ; 

And lay the radiant scarf aside, 

Dear pledge of Juliet's anxious love. 

Like the bright dames of ancient days, 
She fram'd the web of crimson stain ; 

* Thomas Wilkinson. 



\X& MISS SMITHES wr£. 

To grace her hero's form, or bear 
Her hero wounded from the plain. 

And still dispensing kindness round, 

The bapp) household shall unite; 
"While tVom amid surrounding bow'rs 

Their virtues beam with native light. 

And in their joys we still shall joy, 

"While fancy views their dear retreat; 
Though Jiiliet*s eye, and Juliet's smile, 

No more our gladden'd sight shall meet. 

What though the tender tear shall start, 

And soft regret the sigh shall send; 
Yet shall our conscious hearts exult 

In the rich gift of such a friend !* 

I will here insert some productions of which I 
cannot exactly ascertain the date, but which were 
certainly written before the removal to Ireland. The 
imitation of Ossian was probably written at a much 
earlier period; as Miss Smith's partiality for the 
Highland Bard was not quite so great after she be- 
came acquainted with the learned languages as it 
had been in her childhood, though she never be- 
lieved that the work was entirely modern, and was 

* The author of these lines, a Quaker, is now publishing by 
subscription, ** Poems, by Mary Leadbeater, (late Shackleton) 
«>f Ballitore, including % trAnslation of MaS«eus' 13;h Jl&a«i«t." 



MISS smith's LIFE. ny 

vcT}' desirous to read the Poems published by Dr. 
Smith in the original language, but the want of a 
grammar prevented her making much progress.-.: 
M' hen she was in Ireland, she endeavoured to col- 
!cct traditional accounts of the Heroes of Morven' 
find Erin; and always mentioned with pleasure anv 
circumstances which appeared to prove the antiquity 
■'f the poems. =^ 

■ Imitation o/Qssian, 

"It is the voice of woe,* I cried, as our bark was 
ossing on the foaming wave; ' it is the voice of woe, 
3 Finan; I hear it at times in the blast; it shrieks 
rom yonder rock. Now the storm is somewhat 
jbated, let us take our oars, and try to reach the 
hore. Perhaps there is some one, more wretched 
iian we, to whom we may bring comfort; and will 
ot that be comfort to ourselves, son of Dero"-:* 
We can bring no comfort there, O Luno,' answer- 
d Finan, ' 'tis the land of departed spirits. I see 
le dim forms of our fathers, sailing in their grey 
ibes of mist across the mountains. They beckon us 
) approach, they shriek our welcome, for full well 
Ticy know the ocean soon will bear us to that land 
f darkness; we shall never more behold our lov'd, 

* See her letters to Lady Isabella Kin^, 



118 MISS SlvaTH'S LirE. 

our lonely Kilda. Our wives look out from the 
rocks, the fair Malvina, and the raven-hair'd Edil- 
da; they think they see a distant sail, joy sparkle?) 
in their eyes; it was but a passing cloud. They look 
silent and mournful on each other, they slowly re- 
turn to their children. O Luno, let us not rashly 
urge our fate; it is rapture to think yet a moment 
on Kilda.' ' Does Finan fear to die?' I said; ' Fi^l 
nan the bravest among heroes; he who v»^as first to 
climb the rock, and seek the sea-fowl's nest; he v/ho 
was foremost in the fight; does he weep and trenv 
ble, when summoned to the hall of his fatherss 
When the valiant Derog advances to welcome hi^ 
champion, shall he meet the grovelling soul of a lit- 
tle manr' Finan spoke not, he raised his oar; I tool 
up mine, we rowed till we reached the shore. Th4 
voice of mourning had ceased: there was no sounci 
from the cave of the rock. We wandered on thd 
beach to seek the habitations of men. In the ca\^| 
of the rock sate a woman, beautiful as the dawn ol) 
the morning to the benighted traveller, but her for'^ 
was wasted with sorrow; she was like the yourj|^ 
rose of the mountain which the deer has torn up b| 
the roots; it is still lovely, but its strength has failed' 
Her head was leaning on her hand, she saw not oul 
approach. On her knees lay a young child, at her I 
feet a youth like the sons of heroes. We gazed ; 
moment in silence; at length I spak«. * Daught^ 



MISS smith's LIFE. 119 

of sorrow, tell thy grief; we too have known mis- 
fortune, and learnt to pity the distressed.' She rais- 
ed her head, she gazed with wild surprise. ' Sons 
'of the Ocean,' she replied, 'I have no sorrow ?iow. 
My child is dead, and I shall follow him. Ere 
the dark dews of evening fall, I shall meet thee, my 
child, in the ah-y hall of my fathers.' Her head 
sunk again on her hand in silence. 'Yet, tell us, 
lovely mourner,' 1 said, ' tell us what land is this ? 
for we come from far, tossed by the tempest from 
Lhe lonely Kilda.' ' Strangers,' she replied, ' have 
y-e never heard of Rona? Rona, whose fame spread 
wide as the light of day. Her sons were gene- 
bus and brave, her fields were fruitful in corn, her 
hills were covered with sheep. Then v/as the stran- 
ger welcome to the feast. Five families dwelt on 
our plains : their chief was my father, the valiant 
Cormac, whose presence was like sun-shine to his 
guests. Oft have I heard the voice of joy resound 
;n his hall, and seen the beam of gratitude in the eye 
of the shipwrecked mariner. But now famine has 
ivasted our island, and there is nothing left to give 
the weary traveller.' * Surely,' I cried, ' the hand 
3f the liberal should ever be filled with plenty, hap- 
piness should dwell in his habitation, and his child- 
ren should never taste of sorrow: Or if the. tear 
hang on his cheek for a moment, the hand of pity 
should be near to wipe it away, and to restore the 



MISS SMITH'S LITE. 



smile of gladness. Then why is the daughter c 
Cormac left desolate? Why does the child of th 
generous suffer want r* ' Because she chose riches 
rather than virtue,' replied the lovely mourner, 'yet j 
lias she not been unpitied ; but that pity, like yon 
coloured bow which makes the dark cloud seem ; 
still darker, made her folly more apparent, and tore 
her heart with anguish. Oh! son of other lands, 1 [ 
will tell thee my sad tale, though the remembrance 
be painful to my soul. Then wilt thou see that the 
daughter of Cormac has not suffered unjustly. Tvv-^ 
Youths sought the hand of Evirallin, only daught 
of the generous Cormac. Dermod was rich, {i 
his house was well stored with corn, three cow 
gave him their milk, and twenty sheep grazed for 
him on the mountain. The store of Mordred w: 
small, yet was he richer than Dermod,' for he had 
noble soul. But I chose Dermod with his floe 
and herdsj for I said, the wife of Dermod never 
ean know want; pleasure will always attend her call 
she has only to wish, and be satisfied. 'Twas when 
the eve was lengthened out almost to meet the 
dawn, and the sun set far to the north, that I be-j 
came the spouse of Dermod. The soul of Mordrea 

was sad. The crop which then looked gret 

was blasted ere the harvest; it gave us not three 
months' food. In the spring the sea-weed failed on 
the coast, the cattle died of hunger. Then wa6 



•i 



MISS smith's life. 121 

Dermod equalled with the poorest. Our neigh- 
bours died around us. We divided the last scanty 
meal; then wandered different ways to seek for 
herbs and roots, or rather, not to see each other die. 
As I mused on the top of a rock Mordred came up 
with a little cake. ^Eat/ he cried, ^Evirallin; pre- 
serve thy life and that of thy child. While yet there 
was corn, I was sparing; I have still enough for 
many days. Perhaps ere that is gone, some friendly 
bark may bring us aid.' The tear of gratitude was 
on my cheek, but I could not thank the generous 
Mordred. Scarce had I tasted the food, when Der- 
^ mod came with haste; he tore the cake from my 
hand, ere I could give him half, and eagerly devour- 
ed It. Mordred, seized with rage, struck him to 
the ground, and he fell headlong from the rock; the 
dark wave received him, and he rose no more. We 
both stood speechless for a moment, then Mordred 
rushed forward to follow him, but I seized his arm. 
' ? ^^.^^dred!' I cried, Meave me not desolate. 
Ihere is none left alive but thee, and me, and this 
htde babe. We all shall perish soon, but let not me 
be the last. Leave me not like the wounded sea- 
bew, whom her companions have abandoned, to sit 
complaining on the desert rock !*— The heart of 
Mordred was moved; he walked slow and silent 

tway. Each day did he bring me a little cake 

^Vhen I begged him to eat, he would not; he said, 



12^ MISS smith's lite* 

*I have eaten before.' This day he came before the 
accustomed time, he brought this little cake. 'Take 
it,* he cried, 'Evirallin; it is the last. I came soon- 
er than usual, for I felt that I could not live. I have 
never tasted food since the day that I killed Der- 
mod.' He sunk down at my feet. In vain I tried 
to restore him; the noble spirit fled. Then did I 
pour out my grief; I mourned my own hard fate, 
and I gave his praise to the winds. The son of the ' 
rock repeated it, there was none else to hear, Bu|j 
I remembered my child, which lay on the matted sea- 
weed. I returned — it was dead ! Then were my 
cares at an end; I sat down to wait for death, which 
will, ere long, relieve me. Yet, stranger, ere I gp^ 
receive this little cake; 'tis all the wTetched Eviral- 
lin has to give. I could not eat it; 'twere like eat- , 
ing the flesh of Mordred !' — She ceased ; she was 
faint ; two hours I supported her head. Finan \ 
wept over Mordred. At length I felt her hand; it 
was cold and lifeless. We made a grave beneath J 
the hanging rock. We laid the fair Evirallin in the 
narrow house, and Mordred and the child beside J 
her. Vv^e reared these grey stones at their heads, 
to mark the spot to future wanderers of the ocean. 
The last ray of the setting sun look'd on the nev 
made grave!" 

I do not know when the following reflections war 
written, but the idea was probdbly suggested by tl- ^ 



MISS SMITHES LirE* 123 

German poem quoted in a letter to Miss Hunt, da- 
ted April 7, 1794. — Sec page 45. 

" Reason and Revelation, the two lights which 
the Almighty has given us to dispel the darkness of 
ignorance, and guide us to the knowledge of truth, 
may be aptly compared to the tv/o lights He has 
placed to dispel the darkness of the natural world, 
and lead us to an acquaintance with the visible ob- 
jects that surround us. 

" As the sun is the grand instrument by which 
light is dispensed to the whole earth, and so res- 
plendent that all other lights may be accounted 
darkness in comparison; — so revelation is the in- 
strument by which knowledge is communicated, and 
so much does it exceed all other evidence in strength, 
that it alone deserves the name of knowledge. 

'' As the moon shines with lustre borrowed from 
the sun, and witnesses his existence even in his ab- 
sence, by reflecting a light which $he could not have 
received but from him; — so reason shines with th?" 
reflected lustre of revelation, and witnesses its truth, 
even where, at first sight, it seems never to have 
existed, by presenting ideas which the mind of man 
. could not have formed, and which therefore rar.st 
have been originally received from revelation.. 



124 MISS smith's LIF£. 

"As the sun diffuses not only light, but vivify- 
ing heat, and may properly be called the animating 
principle of nature ; — so revelation diffuses not 
merely speculative knowledge, but that which leads 
to everlasting life, and may be said to reanimate the 
soul. 

" The moon gives no heatj neither will reason 
ever lead us to life eternal. 

" The sun shines in vain for whatever is not ex- 
posed to its light and heat; and revelation has been 
given in vain for those who will not receive its in- 
fluences. 

" As the moon is not annihilated by the presence 
of the sun, but only lost in the superiour splendour 
of his beams;^ — so reason is not contradicted by re- 
velation, but lost in the superiour blaze of evidence* 

" The sun is too dazzling for our unassisted eyes 
to behold; and revelation is too glorious for our 
v/eak faculties fully to comprehend. 

" The light of the moon is faint and dubious: and 
the light of reason is but an uncertain guide. 

" The Scriptures plainly point to the analogy be 
tW'een the natural and spiritual worlds, in number- 



125 



less instancesi as, when the moon is called *the faith- 
ful witness in heaven;' Christ is called 'the sun ot 
righteousness,' * the light of the world," &c. 



SONG FROM AFAR, 

Translated from a German Poem by Matthison* 

♦♦ When in the last faint light of ev'ning 

A smiling form glides softly "by» 
A gentle sigh its bosom heaving. 

While thou in oaken grove dost lie; 
It is the spirit of thy friend, 
■^Vhich whispers — 'All thy cares shall end.* 

*' When in the mild moon's peaceful twilight 
Foreboding thoughts and dreams arise; 

And at the solemn hour of midnight 
Paint fairy scenes before thine eyesj 

The poplars give a rustling sound, — 

It is my spirit hovers round. 

<•' When, deep in fields of ancient story, 
Thou hang'st enraptur'd o'er the page 

That gives and takes the meed of glory, — 
Feel'st thou a breath that fans thy rage? 

And does the trembling torch burn paleJ-^ 

My spirit drinks with thine the tale. 
L 2 



126 MISS SMITIi'3 life:. 

" Kear*st thou, wheai silver stars are shiuingj, 
A sound as Eol a harp divine, 

Kow the wild wind full chords combining,— 
Now softly murm'ring — 'Ever thine!' 

Then careless sleep,— to guard thy peace^ 

My watchful spirit ne'er shall cease." 



Observations m North Wales, probably written 
at Comvaij. 

" SnoWdon, Penman-mawr, and indeed all the 
mountains I have examined in Caernarvonshire, 
are composed of Schistus, the laminae of which, 
where they are found in a state of rest, appear gene- 
rally to rise towards the south-west. In some of 
the rocks these lamina are intersected at right an- 
gles by veins of gypsum. The mountains are 
perishing fast, owing to the position of the strata. 
In winter the rain lodges in the intersections of the 
stone, and by its expansive force in freezing, blows 
CiF immense masses; so that the surface of many 
of the mountains, particularly of Penman-mawr, is 
nothing but a confused heap of loose stones of all 
possible dimensions* The peaks have disappeared, 
and are only to be traced by rocks lying confusedly 
on the tops of mountains, where they evidently must 
formerly have stood erect. Grand as this country is, 
it is but the ruin of its former grandeur. I find no 



iirss s:iiTii's life. 127 

marine productions amongst these mountains, and 
indeed their rough and shaggy forms place them in 
the rank of primary mountains. Neither have I 
found any traces of volcanos. What at first sight 
might appear most like onti, is the immense pit at 
the top of Snowdon ; but the stones are untouciied 
by fire, and the cavity seems to have been occasion- 
ed by water in the heart of the mountain under- 
mining its centre; while the peaks, more perfect 
than any I have seen, though covered with ruins, 
stand round staring at each other, and at the lake 
newly formed at their feet, as if they wondered at 
being exposed to the prying eye of day. Vegeta- 
tion does not cease at the top of Snowdon: several 
sorts of moss, and lichen, a kind of short grass, 
the g^allium piisillwn^ and a little thyme, grow even 
To the summit. 

" It is a custom in this country that all those who 
attend at a funeral give money to the clergyman, 
proportionate to their rank and fortune, and that of 

the deceased. 

" On Whit- Monday, all the country people must 
be up at three or four o'clock in the morning to 
keep holiday, on pain of being pulled out of bed 
and put in the stocks by their companions. 



ISa MISS SMITHES LIFE. 

" On Christmas-Day, prayers are read in the 
churches at four in the morning, and six in the even- 
ing. The church is very handsomely illuminated; 
and the people eat gingerbread, drink, and behave 
very riotously, even during the service. 

•* What is the meaning of these customs?" — 

In her letters to Dr. Randolph,* Mrs. Smith 
alludes to some reflections on the applause of the 
world, which were probably written at an earlier 
period of Miss Smith's life. 

" I have known some very good people maintain 
in theory, and almost all in practice, that we ought 
to endeavour to gain the good opinion of others. 
It strikes me so far otherwise, that I should think 
it wrong to stir my fm^tr o?i purpose to gain the 
good opinion of the whole world. Not that I des- 
pise it; I consider the esteem of the wise and good 
as a treasure which I should be glad to obtain; but 
to obtain by being really worthy of it, not by any 
little fraudulent arts exercised on purpose to catch 
it. To be better thought of than I deserve, is al- 
ways a reproach; but the consciousness of having 
gained that high opinion by appearing in any respect 

* S«e Appendix. Letter II 



129 

better than I really am, would be to me as insup- 
portable as that of having forged a bank note. In 
either case I should have made something pass for 
more than it was worth; I should expect the fraud 
to be some time or other discovered; and if not, I 
could not enjoy what I had no right to possess. 
Perhaps there is nothing more difficult to guard 
against than the desire of being admired, but I am 
convinced that it ought never to be the motive for 
the most trifling action. We should do right be- 
cause it is the will of God; if the good opinion of 
others follow our good conduct, we should receive 
it thankfully, as a valuable part of our reward; if 
not, we should be content without it." 

These sentiments are certainly highly character- 
istick of the writer, for no human being, as Mrs. 
Smith observes, ever seemed to seek the applause 
of the world so little as she did. " The approbation 
of God and her own conscience were the only re- 
wards she ever sought." Let me however, guard 

' against her meaning being misunderstood, by ob- 
serving, that wishing to gain the applause of others 
is very different from wishing to please them. In 
the one case we act from selfish motives, in the other 
thev may be purely benevolent. To give pleasure 
to others by expressions of kindness and affection, 

* as well as to set them a good example, forms a part 



130 MISS SMITH S LIFE* 

of that Taw of kindness which is the distinguishiu 
feature of the christian religion; but our mothe for ^ 
every action should be duty to God, and the desire 
of pleasing Him; the applause of our fellow crea- 
tures may be the consequence of our conduct, and 
when it is so, it may be received with gratitude and 
pleasure; but our conduct should be precisely the 
same in every instance, whether this reward is likely 
to be obtained by it or not. The christian should 
act on higher motives, and " through evil report 
and good report," he should always strive to please 
God. 

At Ballitore, where the family spent nine months, 
Miss Smith had access to a very curious collection 
of books chiefly Greek and Latin; and I wish to 
give some idea of the use she made of them. A bun- 
dle of papers found since her death is thus entitled: 
" Fasciculus Plantarum rariorum. Discerptae apud 
Ballitore, vere tSOO, aliae ob pulchritudinem, alise ob 
odorem, alise ob curiositatem."^ In each paper is 

* '* A collection of curious Plants : Gathered at Ballitore in 
1800, Sonne for their beauty, sonne for their sweetness, sonie 
for their rarity." — Sonae errours in this Latin sentence as print- 
ed in the first edition of this work having been noticed (though 
with much candour and liberality) in the Eclectick Review, the 
Editor thinks it necessary to say that the words were originally 
written exactly as th^ are now printed. They were wrUt«n iiT 



131 

the name of an author, and some extracts in the ori- 
ginal languages; some short, but others of conside- 
' rable length. I am informed that many of the 
' Greek extracts are taken from a volume containing 
fragments of the minor poets. Others are much 
longer quotations, from Epictetus, Hesiod, and the 
Sybilline Oracles. I'he Latin authors are, — Cice- 
ronis specimen; Terentius distillatus; Grotius de 
Veritate; Baconis Sermones Fideles; and Bacon de 
' Augmentis Scientiarum. In English, there is Jo- 
sephus, on which are notes which refer to the whole 
of his works, both the Antiquities and the Wars of 
the Jews, and it is evident that Miss Smith had 
studied them with attention. As a proof of the in- 
defatigable application with which she pursued her 
studies, I will take this opportunity of mentioning 
; some of the papers found after her deathi 

A complete Analysis of Homer's Odyssey. 
' Extracts from Quintus Curtius. 

Extracts from Maurice's History of Indostan. 

Extracts from Bruce's Travels. 

Thirteen folio pages, closely written, containing near a thou- 
sand words, written in Hebrew, Arabick,and Persick,to 
shew the resemblance between those languages. 

A great number of Greek words, with their signification. 

A collection of Welsh words. 

a small hand, and with a very bad pen, and an ignorant tran. 
scriber did not observe the diphthongs. 



132 

A collection of words from Africa, — Mandingo, Foulab, 

Zangay, 8cc. 
Explanation of many of the proper names in Scripture. 
A collection of words from the Chinese. 
Explanation of the names of many stars, with their titles in 

Arabick; and other papers in that language. 
Ex;:racts from Bartholinus, in the Icelandish language. 
An abstract of the contents of the Edda, &.c. &c. 

To account for the trouble which Miss Smith took 
in collecting so many words in different languages, 
and making so many extracts from books, it must be 
recollected thilt she was often without a home, and 
deprived of the assistance of dictionaries; and that 
the books from which she derived so much pleasure 
and improvement were not her own, and perhaps 
for a short time only accessible to her. 

After Mrs. Smith returned from Ireland, she re- 
sided during some months at Patterdale, by the 
Lake of Ulswater, from whence the following little 
Poem, written by Miss Smith, was sent by her and 
her sister, with a very elegant Irish Poplin, to a 
friend, whose services, though not her affection, they 
always greatly over-rated. 

" Patterdale^ December 8, 1800. 
** Were India's choicest treasures ours. 

And did we give them all to thee. 
Yet could not that be call'd a gift, 

Which would not set the debtors free 



133 



*■' For more than worlds to ihee we owe, 

Who still hast prov'd our kindest friend; 

Then add one favour to the past, 
To take the trifle we can send. 

*' To purchase pleasure for ourselves 

Thy bounteous hand a store supply'd; 
The little part we thus employ 

Has brought us more than all beside." 

«'E. S. andC. S." 

From Patteidale, Elizabeth writes thus to Miss 
Hunt. 

'^ liar ch 22, 1801. 
" You have perhaps heard of the little farm pur- 
chased, and the house hired at Coniston, where we 
are to be planted in May. In the mean time we 
vegetate in a very beautiful country; but this is not 
the season for enjoying it, and other enjoyments we 
certainly have none; but we look forward to the 
land of promise, and flatter ourselves ajlwillbe bet- 
ter in the next house. My Father is still in Ireland.^ 
— Do you remember, Werter says every day he 
lives amongst the country people he is more delight- 

* Mr, Smith went into the army in the year 17'94, soon after 
the misfortune which deprived him of Piercefield, and he spent 
several years in Ireland with his regiment. 

M 



134 

ed with Homer, because he finds his account tor- 
respond so exactly widi nature ? I find it the same 
here. Our neighbours are very little advanced be- 
yond the state of civilization described by him, and 
their manners agree surprisingly. I could give you 
many instances of this, and shew you several Nes- 
tors, if I had the happiness of seeing you here. — I 
cannot indeed boast of having met with a Hector. 
What is still more astonishing is that the belief in 
ghosts and witches is still in full force. We have 
heard several serious and very recent stories of 
ghosts that have been seen and laid in the neigh- 
bourhood; and there is an old Conjurer living close 
by, who is always applied to, and who exerts his 
. power when the butter will not come, or when any 
thing is lost; beside many others of the same trade, 
in whose incantations the poor people believe at ^ 
least as firmly as they do in the Bible. When I 
come to witchcraft, you will think it is time for me 
to leave off. I obey, entreating you to be assured 
of my most sincere affection." 

The circumstance which gave occasion to the - 
following reflections, happened exactly as it is here 
described. 



135 



" Patter dale, Februanj^ 1801, 

"Alone on the pathless steep I wander'd, 

I sought the foaiTQuig waterfall; 
And high o'er the torrent*s brink I claniber'd, 

Which loud and dreadful roar'd beneath. 



"At length I came where a winter's streamlet 
Had torn the surface from the earth; 

Its bed was fill'd with dry shelving gravel, 
Which slid beneath my hands and feet. 

" The pebbles roU'd rattling down the steep slope^ 
Then dash'd into the dark abyss, 

I follow'd — there was nought to save me, 

Nor bush, nor rock, nor grass, nornrioss, 

*« Then did I tranquilly my life resign; 

• If 'tis the will of God that here 
I perish, may that v/ill be done!' but sudden 

Across my mind th' idea flash'd — 
*'Twas not by his command I hither came; 
'Tis I, who wickedly have throv.'n away 
That life which He for nobler ends had giv'n,* 
Then, with a deep repentance for my fault, 
And firm reliance on his mighty pow'r, * 

I pray'd to him who is, who fills all space, 
• O Lord, deliver me! I know Thou can'stl* 
Instant I rais'd my eyes, I know not why, 
And saw my sister stand a few yards off; 
he seem'd to watch me, but she could not helo, 



136 

Then, as the busy brain oft sees in sleep, 
I thought she saw me slip into the stream » 
And dash rebounding on from rock to rock. 
Swiftly she ran all down the mountain side 
To meet below my mangled lifeless limbs, 
And tatter'd garments.— Life then had value; 
It was worth a struggle, to spare her soul 
That agony. — I pass'd, I know not how, 
The danger; then look'd up—she was not there, 
Nor had been! 'Twas perhaps a vision sent 
To save me from destruction. • Shall I then 
Say that God does not heed the fate of mortals, 
When not a sparrow falls without his will, 
And when He thus has saved a worm like me? 
So when I totter on tlie brink of sin, 
May the same mercy save m.e from the gulph!*' 

On some remarkable sweet tones issuing from the ^ 
wood oil the fire, during a very severe frost. 

" Patterdale^ January^ 1801. 

"The storm is past; the raging wind no more, 
Betv/een the mountains rushing, sweeps the vale 
Dashing the billows of the troubled lake 
High into air; — the snowy fleece lies thick; 
From ev'ry bough, from ev'ry jutting rock 
The chrystals hang;— the torrent's roar has ceas'd,— 
As if that voice which call'd creation forth 
Had said, 'Be still!' All nature stands aghast, 
Suspended by the viewless power of cold, ' 



MISS SMITH S LIVE. 13^ 

"Heap high the fire with wood, and let the blaze 
With mimick sunshine gild our gloomy room. 
The rising flame now spreads a cheerful ray; 
We hover round, rejoicing in the heat; 
The stifFen'd limbs relax, the heart dilates. 
Hark to that sound! Amid the burning pile 
A voice, as of a silver trumpet, speaks. 

*' Children of Taste! Nature's enthusiasts! 
Ye, who, with daring pride, attempt to paint 
These awful scenes; is this an offering fit 
To great Ulswater's Genius? Is it thus 
Ye adore the picturesque, the beautiful? 
Is this your homage to the dread sublimq? 
Oft as ye stray where lofty Stybrow tow'rs. 
Or Glencoin opes her ramparts to the lake, 
Ye view the roots of trees that once have been, — • 
The hypocritick tear in ev'ry eye 
Stands trembling, and ye almost curse the man 
Who laid their leafy honours low; — perhaps 
Some sage reflection follows, on the fate 
Of greatness tumbled from its airy height,— 
Of youth and beauty lopp'd in early bloom,-" 
Or else on avarice, that fiend who turns 
The woods to gold, the heart to steel. — Then home 
Ye hie, and feed the fire with those lov'd trees 
Whose fall ye have deplor'd. For this, be sure 
Our sister Dryades ne'er shall spread their arms 
To screen ye from the summer's noon-tide ray; 
But ere the sun ascends his fiery car, 
Banish'd from these secjuester'd glades, far off 

m2 



138 MISS smith's life* 

To scorching plains and barren mountains go. 
Where not a bough shall wave to fan the breeze, 
Nor rill shall murmur coolness as it flows. 
Then learn how vain th' excuse — ' I did no wrong; 
I only shar'd the gain of him who did." 

I will here insert reflections on various subjects 
found among Miss Smith's papers, most of which, 
I believe, \Yere written after her return from Ire- 
land. 

" Why are the writings of the ancients, generally 
speaking, superiour to those of the moderns? Be- 
cause paper was scarce. Of course they would 
think deeply, and consider their subject on every 
side before they would spoil their parchment by 
writing what on reflection might appear not worth 
preserving. The same cause, added to the labour 
of transcribing, would prevent copies being multi- 
plied, except of what was really valuable. Thus 
what has come down to our time, is only the cream 
of the writings of the ancients, skimmed off by the 
judgment of their immediate successours, and can- 
not fairly be compared with the general mass of 
modern literature." 

" One of the most common subjects of complaint 
among those who wish to shew their wisdom by 
arraigning the whole economy of the universe, is 



snss smith's life. 139 

the inequality in the distribution of the goods of 
this life. It is unfair, say they, that a fool should 
^ be suiTounded with dignities, honours, and afflu- 
ence, while a wise man perhaps begs at his door, 
1 his IS a mistake, arising as false opinions generally 
CO, from a too hasty view of the subject. Let the 
wisdom of the one be weighed against the exteriour 
trappings of the other, and it will then appear that 
^ the wise man has by much the greater share of the 
goods even of this life, wisdom being the most 
valuable gift that God can bestow. It may also be 
proved that he is the happiest. He is of course 
virtuous, for true wisdom is the mother of virtue; 
and his wisdom and virtue will teach him to be con- 
tented with whatever lot the will of God may ordain 
for him. This is more than the fool in the midst 
oi his wealth can ever attain to. He is always pur- 
suing some new bauble ; and despising all he pos- 
sesses in comparison with what he wishes to obtain; 
and though he may riot in what he calls pleasure 
for a time, he never enjoys that inward satisfaction, 
that sunshme of the mind, which alone deserves the 
name of happiness. If, then, honours, distinctions, 
md riches, were given exclusively to the wise and 
?ood; what would become of the foolish and the 
kicked? They would lose their only enjoyment, 
md become much more wretched than it is possible' 
or a wise man to be under any circumstances. At 



h(kO itMSs smtth's lite. 

the same time the happiness of the wise would not 
increase in the same proportion as that of the iool 
diminished; because his mind being fixed on higher 
objects, he would but lightly regard those advan- ' 
tages on which the other sets so high a value. The 
dog cats meat, and delights in all the dainties of 
the table; but must the sheep therefore complain 
that it has only grass? It has ihe best food adapted | 
to its nature. Were the dog turned out to graze, i 
he would starve." 

" The hand of a friend imparts inestimable value 1 
to the most trifling token of remembrance; but a 
magnificent present from one unloved is like golden 
fetters, which encumber and restrain not the less 
for being made of costly materials.'* 

" Humilit) has been so much recoinmended, and 
is indeed so truly a christian virtue, that some 
people fancy they cannot be too humble. If they 
speak of humility towards God, they are certainly 
right; we cannot, by the utmost exertion of our, 
faculties, measure the distance between Him and'' 
us, nor prostrate ourselves too low before Him J 
but with regard to our fellow creatures, 1 think the , 
case is different. Though we ought by no means j 
tQ assume too much, a certain degree of respect to 
^sdb^M^ is necessiijy to »bu^n a p/og^rtlonate dj^^J 



141 

gree from others. Too low an opiixion of ourselves 
will also prevent our undertaking what we are very- 
able to accomplish, and thus prevent the fulfilment 
of our duty; for it is our duty to exert the poxyers 
given us to the utmost, for good purposes; and how 
shall we exert powers which we are too humble 
minded to suppose we possess? In this particular, 
as in all others, we should constantly aim at dis- 
covering the truth. Though our faculties, both 
intellectual and corporeal, be absolutely nothing 
compared with the Divinity, yet when compared 
with those of other mortals they rise to some rela- 
tive value, and it should be our study to ascertain 
that value, in order that we may employ them to 
the best advantage, always remembering that it is 
better to fix it rather below than above the truth*'* 

" It is very surprising that praise should excite 
vanity: for if what is said of us be true, it is no 
more than we knew before, and cannot raise us in 
our own esteem; if it be false, it is surely a most 
humiliating reflection, that w^e are only admired 
because we are not known; and that a closer inspec- 
tion would draw forth censure, instead of com- 
mendation. Praise can hurt only those who have 
not formed a decided opinion of themselves, and 
who are willing, on the testimony of others, to rank 
themselves higher than their merits warrant, in the 
scale of excellenGv.'^ 



142 

a 

" Pleasure is a rose near which there ever grows 
the thorn of evil. It is wisdom's work so carefully ^ 
to cull the rose, as to avoid the thorn, and let its "^ 
rich perfume exhale to heaven in grateful adoration 
of Him ^A\o gave the rose to blow." 

" As the sun breaking forth in winter, so is joy 
in the season of affliction. As a shower in the 
midst of summer, so are the salutary drops of sor- 
row mingled in our cup of pleasure." 

'' A sum of happiness sufficient to supply our 
reasonable desires for a long time, is sometimes con- 
densed into a little space, as light is concentrated in 
the flash. Such moments are given to enable us to. 
guess at the joys of heaven." 

" In vain do we attempt to fix our thoughts oh 
heaven; the vanities of this world rise like a cloud 
of dust before the eyes of the traveller, and obscure, 
if not totally conceal, the beautiful and boundless 
prospect of the glorious country towards which w 
are tending," 

" If it were the business of man to make a reii- ^ 
gion for himseli\, the Deist, the Theophilanthropist, 
the Stoick, or even the Epicurean, might be approv- 
edj bat this is not the case. We are to believe what ^ 



IWISS SVilTH's tlFE. 143 

God has taught us, and to do what he has com- 
manded. All other systems are but the reveries 
of mortals, and not religion." 

" The christian life may be compared to a mag- 
nificent column, whose summit always points to 
heaven. The innocent, and therefore real pleasures 
of this world are the ornaments on the pedestal; 
very beautiful, and highly to be enjoyed when the 
eye is near; but which should not too long or 
too frequently detain us from that just distance, 
where we can contemplate the whole column, and 
where the ornaments on its base disappear." 

" The cause of all sin is a deficiency in our love 
hi God. If we really loved him above all things, 

rwe should not be too strongly attached to terrestrial 
objects, and should with pleasure relinquish them 
all to please Him, Unfortunately, while we con- 
tinue on earth, our minds are so much more strong- 
ly affected by the perceptions of the senses than by 
abstract ideas, that it requires a continual exertion 

r to keep up even the remembrance of the invisible 
world." 

"When I hear of a great and good character 

falling into some heinous crime, I cannot help cry- 

[ ing, Lord, what am I, that I should be exempt? O 



144 MISS smith's LirE. 

preserve me from temptation, or how shall I stand 
when so many, much my superiours. have fallen; 

" Sublimity is something beyond the little circle 
of our comprehension, and whatever within that 
circle approaches the circumference, approaches the 
sublime. The pleasure occasioned by the idea of 
sublimity seems to me to consist in the exertion of 
the mind, which, when violent, overpowers weak 
minds, as violent exercise does weak bodies, but 
makes strong ones feel and rejoice in their own 
energy. Mr. Burke certainly understood and felt | 
the sublime; but I think he would have defined it ! 
better, if, instead of saying it is occasioned by ter- 
rour, he had said, it is something incomprehensible 
to the mind of man, something which it struggles" 
to take in, but cannot; which exerts all its powers, ' 
yet baffles them. The instances he brings of it 
would in general agree much better vv^ith this idea 
than with that of terrour; as an extent of space of 
which the eye sees not the bounds, a degree of 
darkness which conceals them, every thing which \, 
occasions indistinctness and difficulty. The same j 
perpendicular height gives a m.ore sublime idea to 
a person on the summit than at the base, because 
the eye cannot so easily measure the height." 



MISS smith's LIF£. 14j 

** Imagination, like the setting sun, casts a glow- 
ing lustre over the prospect, and lends to every 
object an enchanting brilliancy of colouring; but 
when reason takes the place of imagination, and the 
sun sinks behind the mountain, all fade alike into 
tli€ night of disappointment." 

*' Study is to the mind what exercise is to the 
body; neither can be active and vigorous without 
exertion. Therefore if the acquisition of knowl- 
edge were not an end worthy to be gained, still stu- 
dy would be valuable on its own account, as tending 
to strengthen the mind: just as a walk is beneficial 
to our health, though we have no particular object in 
view. And certainly, for that most humiliating 
mental disorder, the wandering of the thoughts^ 
there is no remedy so efficacious as intense study." 

" An hour well spent condemns a life* When 
we reflect on the sum of improvement and delight 
gained in that single hour, how do the multitude of 
hours already past rise up and say, what good has 
marked us ? Wouldst thou know the true worth of 
time, employ one hourJ^^ 

" To read a great deal would be a sure preventive 
of much writing, because almost every one might 
ilnd all he has to say, already written," 



146 MISS SMITH S LIFE^ 

" A woman must have uncommon sweetness of | 
disposition and manners, to ha forgiven for possess- 
ing superiour talents and acquirements." 

" As by weighing a guinea in water, w^e prove 
whether it be really gold, so by weighing our own 
faculties and attainments with those of the world in 
general, w^e may ascertain their real worth. What- 
ever bulk they have gained by the swelling of vani- - 
ty, so much weight will they lose on the trial. No 
one can be convinced how difficult it is to know him- 
self, without observing the erroneous opinions 
which others entertain of themselves; but having 
seen how far vanity w ill lead them, \ve must suspect 
ourselves." 



" It is not learning that is disliked in women, buti^ 
the ignorance and vanity which generally accompa- I 
ny it. A woman"'s learning is like the fine clothes ' 
of an upstart, who is anxious to exhibit to all the 
world the riches so unexpectedly acquired. The 
learning of a man, on the contrar)^, is like heredita- ^ 
ry rank, which having grown up with him, and be- J 
ing in a manner interwoven with his nature, he is ^ 
almost unconscious of possessing it. The reason 
of this diiference is the scarcity of the commodity 
amongst females, which makes every one who pos- 
sesses a little, fancy herself a prodigy. As the sum 75' 



total increases, we may reasonably hope that each 
will become able to bear her share with a better 
grace." 

" Why do so many men return coxcombs from 
their travels? Because they set out fools. If a man 
take with him even a moderate share of common 
sense, and a desire of improvement; he will find 
travelling the best introduction to an acquaintance 
with himself, and of course the best corrector of va- 
nity; for if v/e knew ourselves, of what could any' 
of us be vain? Vanity is the fruit of ignorance 
which thrives most in subterranean places, where 
the air of heaven, and the light of the sun, never 
reach it.'* 

" Hope without foundation is an ignis fatuus^ and 
what foundation can we have for any hope, but that 
of heaven?" 

*' Great actions are so often performed from little 
motives of vanity, self-complacency, and the like, 
that I am more apt to think highly of the person 
whom I observe checking a reply to a petulant 
speech, or even submitting to the judgment of ano- 
ther in stirring the fire, than of one who gives away 
thousands." 



148 MISS smith's life. 

"To be good and disagreeable is high^treasoa 



" Oar endeavours to reach perfection are like 
those of Sisyphus to roll the stone up the hill; we 
have a constant tendency downwards, which we 
must exert all our efforts to counteract.'* 

" A great genius can render clear and intelligible 
any subject within the compass of human know- 
ledge; therefore what is called a deep book, (too 
deep to be understood,) we may generally conclude 
to be the produce of a shallow understanding." 

" We were placed in this world to learn to be 
happy; that is, so to regulate and employ our pas- 
sions as to make them productive of happiness; if 
we do not learn this lesson, but on the contrary, 
make them productive of misery, by cultivating and 
encouraging the malevolent, instead of the benevo- 
lent affections, heaven itself cannot make us happy. 
For a being accustomed to indulge envy, hatred, 
and malice, against superiour excellence, would be 
in a state of the most agonizing torture, if placed 
in the midst of perfection, where every object cal- 
culated to inspire love and admiration, veneration 
and gratitude, in a well disposed mind, would CX' 
cite the opposite painful emotions in his.'* 



MISS smith's LIi£. H9 

"•• A happy day is worth enjoying; it exercises the 
soul for heaven. The heart that never tastes of 
pleasure, shuts up, grov/s stiff, and incapable of en- 
joyment. How then shall it enter the realms of 
bliss? A cold heart can receive no pleasure even 
there. Happiness is the support of virtue; they 
should always travel together, and they generally 
do so; when the heart expands to receive the latter, 
her companion enters of course. In some situations, 
if I ever do right, it is mechanically, or in compli- 
ance with the deductions of reason; in others, it is 
irom an inward sentiment of goodness, ^from the 
iove of God, and admiration of the bey.uty of virtue. 
I believe it is impossible to be wicked and happy at 
the same time." 

" When we think of the various miseries of the 
world, it seems as if we ought to mourn continually 
for our fellow-creatures; and that it is only for want 
of feeling that we indulge in joy for a single mo- 
ment. But when we consider all these apparent 
evils as dispensations of Providence, tending to 
correct the corruption of our nature, and to" lit us 
for the enjoyment of eternal happiness; we can not 
only look with calmness on the misfortunes of oth- 
ers, but receive those appointed for ourselves with 
gratitude.'' 



n2 



150 

" Happiness is a very common plant, a native of 
eveiy soil ; yet is some skill required in gathering 
it; for many poisonous weeds look like it, and de- 
ceive the unwary to their ruin." 

" Courage has been extolled as the ftrst of human 
virtues; again, it has been considered as the mere 
mechanical eftect of blood and spirits. Whence arise 
these opposite opinions ? To answer this question, 
'we must trace fear to its origin, i, e. the cradle- — 
We are all naturally cowards, as we are gluttons, 
SvC. The first passions of children are, a desire of 
food; fear, when any thing approaches which they 
fancy may hurt them; and anger, when their incli- 
nations are thwarted. These instincts are wisely 
implanted, for the purpose of self-preservation, not 
only in the human species, bat in the whole animal ' 
creation. By these we are and must be guided, till 
reason gain sufficient strength to rule them. In some 
this never happens, and they are children all their 
lives; or rather they degrade themselves to brutes, 
by not using their reason for the purpose for which ' 
it was given. Since, then, fear is natural, courage ^i 
does not consist in its absence, but in its proper reg- 
ulation by reason; to fear only when there is cause 
to fear. On this subject there will be various opin- 
ions. Some think any bodily pain or injury a cause 
of fear, others drt:ad the censure or ridicule of the ' 



15% 

v/orld, &c. It is the Christian alone, who, having 
his treasure in heaven, can find no cause of fear in 
this world, and who is therefore the only hero.-— 
Others may possess degrees of courage sufficient for 
outside show, to impose upon the world, to be ad- 
mired, and to be talked of; but which having no 
better foundation than vanity, emulation, or shame 
— all originally the oifspring of fear, will shrink from 
even a small trial, which no eye beholds, because 
their natural timidity having been argued down by 
only weak and partial reasons, will always recur 
when those reasons fail. Such courage is not a vir- 
tue, though still, as being an exertion of reason, 
upon whatever principles, it is more respectable 
than cowardice. It is the foundation of religion 
alone, which exalts courage to the highest virtue, 
and at the same time makes it universal, as being 
an universal principle applicable to all circumstan- 



In the month of May 1802, Mrs. Blake and Mrs. 
E. Hamilton went to spend the summer near the 
Lakes; and I had the pleasure of introducing them 
to Mrs. Smith. I take the liberty of inserting some 
short extracts from Mrs. Hamilton's letters, be- 
cause they describe the situation of my friends far 
better than I am capable of doing it. The talents 
of the writer are well known and universally admi- 
red. 



>52 MIS3 sj:ith's life. 

" 3Ionk Comston, -"^w^* 8. 
" Were it possible that your heart could feel a 
pang of envy, it would certainly be excited by the 
date of this letter, which at a glance will convey to 
you aa idea of the happiness I just ncv/ enjoy. 

" You wish me to be particular in my description 
ef the place, and of every thing concerning the dear 
inhabitants. I wish I could say that the house was 
comfortable, but in truth it is not. I cannot help 
wishing that a more coaimodious dwelling cculd be 
reared, and I am sure that were you to have a sight 
of this in winter you would be of my opinion. The 
situation is indeed enchanting, and during the sum- 
mer months, inconveniences within doors are little 
felti but it grieves me to be convinced of what they 
must amount to in December. Mrs. Smith's spir- 
its still support her. Not all the sufferings she has 
been doomed to experience, have had power to de- 
stroy the energy of a mind that is superiour to the 
malice of fortune. Her gentle daughters are indeed 
admirable creatures. Their sw^eet manners, their 
amiable contentedness, and cheerful enjoyment of 
every blessing which Providence has placed within 
their reach, is truly engaging," 



Miss smith's lije, 153 

'* September 2. 
" I cannot help reproaching myself for having 
added to your anxiety about your deservedly dear 
friends, especially as they seem determined against 
building at present. While they can enjoy their 
pursuits out of doors, the house is of htde conse- 
quence, as by exposure to the air the body is fortifi- 
ed to endure damp, and this it is which has preser- 
ved the health of the whole family; but when the 
weather does not permit the use of exercise, I fear 
it must prove injurious. I was not sorry that the 
weather was bad while I was at Coniston, as it gave 
me so much more time for conversation, and every 
hour endeared the whole family to me more and 
more." 

" October 25. 
" I spent a few delightful hours with Mrs. Smith, 
whose society I preferred to all the beauties of the 
Lake, across Avhich my sister was conducted by the 
Nijmphs^ who in the days of Paganism would have 
been worshipped as beings of a superiour order; so 
elegantly graceful do they appear, when with easy 
motion they guide their light boat over th^ waves. 
After having seen all this country, I consider Con- 
iston, as the most eligible spot they could possibly 
have fixed on. I have no doubt that with their ju- 



1^4 

dicious plan of cultivation the land will, in three 
years time, double its value. The situation is un- 
commonly beautiful. The scenery is such as to 
charm every mind that is susceptible of the emo- 
tions of sublimity or beauty. Its remoteness from 
what is called good neighbourhood is another great 
advantage, for there they can preserve the dignity 
of retirement. Their present house is certainly 
damp, but the soil is very dry, and houses properly 
built arc liable to no such inconvenience." 



" Edinburgh^ December 13. 

"We began to feel the want of society at Bow- 
ness, and were on that account doubly obliged to 
our dear Coniston friends, for a most kind and wel- 
come visit of the young ladies, Mrs. Smith, to our 
great regret, was not well enough to come, as the 
Lake, which is in summer so agreeable, presents in 
winter a formidable barrier, on account of the ex- 
treme cold. I never before saw so much of Miss 
Smith, and in the three days she spent with us, the ^ 
admiration which I had always felt for her extraor- ' 
dinary talents, and as extraordinary virtues, was 
hourly augmented. She is indeed a most charming 
creature, and if one could inoculate her with a little 



155 

of the Scotch frankness, I think she would be one 
of the most perfect of human beings."* 

* I take the liberty of adding an extract from a letter lately- 
received from Mrs. E. Hamilton. 

" Edinburgh, March 11, 1809. 
" I cannot but be highly flattered, by your expressing a -wish 

to insert in the Fragments some passages from my letters, 
which related to the ever beloved and regretted Miss Smith; 
for be assured no circumstance could be more gratif) ing to my 
feelings than to be permitted to add my mite to the tribute paid 
to her memory; but it was not on a first acquaintance that her 
extraordinary qualities wQYt to be appreciated. She did not 
emit those brilliant flashes which dazzle the imagination; and 
so superiour were the native graces of her mind to the orna- 
ments which embellished it, that acquirements which in oth- 
ers would have been admired as astonishing, were in her some- 
times almost unobserved. To those who had been accustomed 
to contemplate the possessourof genius or learning raised upon 
the pedestal of vanity, and extorting the homage of applause 
from all beholders, the simplicity, to which all ostentatious 
display was abhorrent, w^ould have appeared as a defect; and 
therefore it is not surprising that her merit should have been 
sometimes overlooked. But whoever compared it with a higher 
standard than that of the world, must have been sensible of its 
near approach to perfection, and while they bestowed on her 
character the admiration so justly due, they would be led to 
reflect with gratitude that the model on which all her virtues 
were formed, is within the reach of all who with equal since- 
rity endeavour to mould themselves to its likeness," 



Ij6 MISS smith's LIIE. 

In the year 1803, Mr. Sotheby, the elegant trans- 
lator of Oberon, expressed to me a wish that IVIiss 
Smith's uncommon talents should be employed in 
something which might interest the publick; particu- 
larly in translations from the German. He scarcely 
could credit what I said of the facility with which 
she translated from that very difficult language; and 
taking down Gessner's works, which was the only 
German book in my possession, he turned to one of 
the Idylls, and requested me to ask her to translate 
it. I believe she had never read it, and I know she 
had no dictionary; but I told her that Mr. Sotheby 
had commended the poem highly, and I wished she 
would make me understand it. The next morning 
she brought me the following. 

A Picture of the Delude, 

*' The marble towers were already deep buried 
beneath the flood, and dark waves already rolled 
over the mountain tops; one lofty summit stood 
alone above the waters. Its sides resounded with 
the mingled cries of wretches who attempted to as- 
cend, and whom death followed on the dashing 
wave. Here, a crag, rent from the mountain, fell 
with its burthen of helpless mortals into the foam- 
ing flood; thr-;re, the Maid stream of a t~nvnt hnrri- 
ed down the son, as he was dragging; up his dying 



MIS3 smith's lifk. X37 

father, or the despairing mother with the load of her 
children. Only the highest summit'now remained 
above the deluge. 

" Semin, a noble youth, to whom the most noble 
of maidens had sw^orn eternal love, had saved his 
beloved Semira on the summit. All else were 
dead. They stood alone in the howling stOrm ; the 
waves dash'd over them. Above them giowFd the 
thunder, and beneath roar'd the furious ocean. — ■ 
Darkness reign'd around, save when the lightning 
shew'd the horrid scene. Each cloud's dark brow 
threaten'd vengeance, and each wave roll'd on a 
thousand corses; it roil'd on with fury, seeking for 
more destruction. — Semira press'd her beloved to 
her trembling heart; tears ran with the rain-drops 
down her faded cheeks. She spoke with a faltering 
voice. — 

" There is no more safety, O my beloved! my 
Semin! Death surrounds us. O destruction ! O 
misery! Death comes every moment nearer. Which 
of those waves, oh, which will overwhelm us? Hold 
me, hold me in thy trembling arms, O my beloved! 
Soon, soon shall I, shalt thou, be no more; swallow- 
ed up in the universal destruction. Now, — O God! 
yonder it rolls. How dreadful! It rolls yet nearer, 
illumined by the lightning. Now, — O God! our 



^V8 MISS smith's LIPE. 

Judge!' she said, and sunk on Semin. His tremb- 
ling arm surrounded his fainting love. No voice 
breathed from his quivering lips. He saw destruc- 
tion no longer ; he saw only the fainting Semira 
leaning on his bosom, and felt more than the chili 
of death. Now he kiss'd her pale cheek, wet with 
the chilling rain; he press'd her closer to his breast, 
and said, ' Semira, beloved Semira, wake! Oh, yet 
return to this scene of horrour, that thine eyes may 
look on me once more; that thy pale lips may once 
more tell me that thou lov'st me even in death, yet 
once more, ere the flood o'erwhelm us both!' He 
said^ and she awoke. She look'd on him with an 
eye full of tenderness and inexpressible sorrow, — 
then on the wide scene of desolation. ' O God, 
our Judge!' she cried, 'is there no protection, is 
there no pity for us? O how the waves dash, how 
the thunder roars around us! What terrours an- 
nounce the unpropitiated judgment. O God! our 
years flowed on in innocence. Thou, the most vir- 
tuous of youths! — Woe, woe is me! They are all 
gone; they who adorn'd my life with the flowers of 
joy are all gone! — And thou v/ho gavest me life, — 
O agonizing sight! the wave tore thee from my 
fiide. Yet once didst thou raise thy head and thine 
arms; thou wouldst have blest me, and wert over- 
whelm'd. O they are all gone — and yet-r-O Se- 
Biin, Semin; beside thee the lonely desolated world 



159 

would be to me a Paradise. OuV yoiuhful years 
flovvM on in innocence. Oh, is there no salvation, 
no mercy? Yet why does my afflicted heart com- 
plain? O God, forgive! We die. What is the in- 
nocence of man in thy sight:' The youth supported 
his beloved as she trembled in the storm, and said, 
* Yes, my beloved, life is banish'd from the earth; 
the voice of the dying no more is heard am.idst the 
roaring of the ocean. O Semira, my dearest Seiiii- 
ra, the next moment will be our last! Yes, they are 
gone, the hopes of this life are all gone; every pleas- 
ing prospect that vfe imagined in the enraptured 
hours of our love, is vanished. We die; — ^but O 
let us not await the universal doom like those wh0 
have no hope; and O my beloved, what is the long- 
est, the happiest life? A dew^-drop that hangs from 
the jutting rock, and before the morning sun, falls 
into the sea. — Raise up thy drooping spirit. — Be- 
yond this life is peace and eternity. Let us not 
tremble now as we pass over. Embrace me, and so 
let us await our destiny. Soon, my Semira, soon 
shall our souls rise above this desolation; full of 
feelings of inexpressible happiness shall they arise. 
O God, hope fills my soul with courage. Yes, Se- 
mira, let us lift up our hands to God. Shall a mor- 
tal adjust His balance? He who breathed into us the 
]5!Pbath of life; He sends death to the righteous, and 
to the unrighteous; but well is it for him who hath 



16Q MISS SldlTK^S LIFE. 

walked in the path of virtue. We pray not for life, 
Q righteous Judge! Take us from hencej but oh, 
invigorate the hope, the sweet hope of inexpressible 
happiness, Vv^hich death shall no more c^isturb*^ — 
Then roll, ye thunders, and rage, thou ocean; dash 
over us, ye waves! Praised be the righteous Judge, 
praised! Let this be the last thought of our soul in 
the dying body.* — Courage and joy animated the, 
f^xe of Semira. She rais*d her hands in the storm, 
and said, 'Yes, I feel the delightful, the glorious 
hope! Praise the Lord, O my tongue, weep tears of 
joy, my eyes, till death shall close ye. A heaven 
iilled with happiness awaits us. Ye are all gone 
before, ye beloved! We come. Soon, O soon we 
shall again behold you! They stand before H'ts 
throne, the Righteous One's; He has gathered them 
together from his judgment. Roar, ye thunders ; .^ 
rage, destruction; ye are hymns of praise to his ' 
righteousness. Roll over us, ye waves. See, my 
beloved! — Embr?.ce me — yonder it comes; death 
comes on yon da;'k wave. Embrace me, Semin; 
leave me not. O already the flood uplifts me from 
t]ie earth.' — ' f embrace thee Semira,* said the "j 
youth. ' I embrace thee ! O death, thou art wel- 
come. We are prepared. Praised be the eternal 
Just One!*- — The next wave found them lock'd in 
each other's arms: the w.cceeding found them not!'' 



161 

Mr. Sotheby was extremely pleased with this 
translation, and his encouragement and kind as- 
sistance led me to engage tny beloved friend in a 
work, which employed much of her time and atten- 
tion, and in which she took particular pleasure} till 
her last fatal illness put an end to her pursuits and 
to all our earthly hopes in regard to her. The 
work to which I allude, is a translation of Letters 
and Memoirs relating to Mr. and Mrs. Klopstock. 
The interest which was awakened by Mrs. Klop- 
stock's letters, lately published in the Correspon- 
dence of Mr. Richardson, led me to suppose that 
authentick information with regard to that amiable 
woman would be well received by the publick; and 
the kindness of the venerable Dr. Mumssen, of ^1~ 
tona, who had been the intimate friend of Klopstock, 
supplied me with many letters and other works in 
prose and verse, which Miss Smith translated. I 
will here insert some extracts from letters, which 
were sent to me with different parts of this little 
[work, the materials for which were received by me, 
and forwarded to her at different times, 

" Co7iist07i^ Noveynber 9, 1 804. 
" My Mother has, I hope, told you, my dearest 
friend, that Mr. Sotheby's book arrived the day be- 
fore she left home, which was as soon as I could do 
any :good with it. My Mother and I were so com- 

o 2 



162 MISS SMITK'ii LI]?£. 

for table together, that I did not attempt to do any 
thing, except translating the little Ode to Bodmer 
one night after she was gone to bed. I shall now 
have a clear week between her going and my Sis- 
ter's coming, and that will be sufficient to do all you 
want. But I ought to tell } ou what I have got, that 
you may explain your v/ishes more fully. The two 
volumes contain a series of Odes arranged in chro- 
nological order from 1747 to 1797, published by 
Klopstock himself in 1798. Mr. Sotheby's book 
contains seme of the same odes, vv^ith a few others ; 
some pieces of prose, most of which seem to have 
been v/ritten for the Northern Spectator; and his 
letters to his v/ife after her death. This book was 
published in 1771. The Preface contains an ex- 
tract from a letter of Bcdmer's, giving a very inter- 
esting account of Klopstock when a boy, and of his 
nrst reading Milton. Would you wish to have that? 
There is nothing in this volum.e which can have 
been written by Meta, except a dialogue between 
Klopstock and her on the subject of Fame. In an 
Ode to Schmidt her death is mentioned with great 
feeling. ^I have translated this, with all the other 
pieces just mentioned, and if you want only what 
relates to her, this is all that Mr. Sotheby's book 
can supply, except a letter on the fashions, to the 
Northern Spectator, in which she is mentioned as 
?.n cxampl'^v I think you should publish that for 



i63 

the good of your neighbours. I come now to the 
Odes. They are six, addressed to, or rehuing to, 
his wife, under the name of Cidli. These are done, 
and so is the Ode to God, because you desired it; 
but I think you must be mistaken in supposing it re- 
lated to his wife, because it was written in 1748, 
which, according to her letters to Richardson, was 
three years before he ever saw her. He probably 
meant Fanny the sister of his friend Schmidt, to 
whom he addressed several poems in the same year. 
This is all I can find for you that in any way con- 
cerns Mrs. Klopstock, and now I want to know 
whether you wish for any more. There is a long 
and fine Ode to the Omnipresent, written in 1758, 
probably soon after her death, in which she is not 
mentioned, but it shews the turn that his mind had 
taken. There are also several others of a religious 
cast in the year following. I shall go on with these 
till my Sister's return, and then shall wait your or- 
ders to send what you choose. I cannot conclude 
without thanking you most heartily for the employ- 
ment. I am so delighted with Klopstock, that I feel 
very glad of an excuse to give up my whole time 
and thoughts to him. As to the Dictionary, I am 
sorry to have troubled Mr. Sotheby, for I have not 
yet found any use for it. The English often runs 
so naturally in the same course with the German, 
that I have nothing to do but to write it do^n. Per- 



164 KISS smith's life, 

haps you will be kind enough to mention any thing 
you dislike; then if it be Klopstock's fault, you 
must be content; if mine, it shall be corrected with 
thankfulness. 

** P. S. I have just found two more Odes written 
in 1750, in which I had not observed the name of 
Cidli. One is on the death of Clarissa. They shall 
be done immediately." 

''^November 25. 
"A thousand thanks for your letter, which I hope 
to find space to answer in the sheet which is to be 
despatched on the next post-day. You have now 
got all that relates to Meta. I think you will fmd 
some of the prose tedious, but I will send it, and : 
then you will judge for yourself. There is a life of- *< 
Klopstock in the new edition of his works; but whe- | 
ther it contain many interesting particulars, is more * 
than I know- 

*'That you may not suspect me of arrogance in i, 
saying that I made no use of the Dictionary, I i 
must tell you that the difficulty of Klopstock's Odes 
(for difficult many of them certainly are) does not 
consist in hard v»'ords, but in the wide range of ' 
ideas, and the depth of thought, which he has ex- 
pressed in very concise language; of course, oftcTi 

I 



16S 

bordering on obscurity, but such obscurky as no 
dictionary has power to dissipate. On the contrary, 
in translating the .prose, I have several times had 
occasion to consult it for names of things in com- 
mon use, v/hich never occur in poetry, and it has 
not always afforded the information! wanted. There 
are some words for which I am still at a loss, which 
I send in German, in hopes that Miss Hunt can 
explain them. If you imagine me making rapid 
progress, you are totally mistaken. Since my sis- 
ters and Bedford'''' came home, my perfect stillness 
is at an end; and my brains being of that kind which 
requires the aid of outward composure, it is not 
without difliculty that I can now translate the prose, 
and the poetry I do not think of attempting. The 
present sheet is all I have translated since their re- 
turn, though I have still some left of what I had 
done before. I fear it will be so long before all our 
materials are collected, that the subject will be for- 
goxten in the world. Never, I entreat you, think 
of thanking rae; but be assured that if I can do any 
thing to amuse you, whether it be of any further 
use or not, the pleasure of doing so is to me an 
ample reward." 

* Third son Qf Mr. Smiili, now in the 6th dragoon-guards. 



166 

" December 22. 
" Last night arrived your parcel — ^j^our little par-^ 
eel of great treasures. The letters between Klop- 
stock and his wife are highly interesting to those 
who know and love them as we do, and Mrs. Klcp- 
stock's letters from the dead to the living, as well^. 
as many of the letters of their friends written after 
her death, will, I am sure, delight you. 

" You put a dash under warm bed-chamber, as 
if you thought we could not give you one; it is 
therefore my duty to tell you, that it is the warmest 
and best thing we have; and that if it were possible to 
transport you hither, we should not despair of mak- ' 
ing you comfortable, even in the depth of winter; - 
nor of hearing you admire our mountains every 
time the sun shone. In fact their present colouring 
is so rich, and the small elevation of the sun above 
the horizon is so favourable to the lights and sha- 
dows, that when a gleam does dart across the valley, 
it is, in a painter's eye, more beautiful than in sum- 
mer. Tiie mountuins in the back ground are cover- 
ed with snov/, but we have only a little sprinkling 
on the top of our highest neighbour. I hope too, 
you would not here be so often *sick at heart' as you 
are at Bath, and always must be, till you learn, 
%vhat you never will learn, to care for nobody but ^ 
yourself. We expected Miss Hunt would have 



MISS smith's Ll-TE. 167 

some influence in keeping you quiet, by making 
■"you happy at home; but it seems even her power is 
not sufficient. Give my kind love to her. Louis* 
' is at home for the holidays. He and Bedford are 
very grateful for your kind remembrance. As to 
ji^our own children, I need not waste paper in telling 
iyou how much they love you." 

"jT/^rc/i 22, 1805. 
"A small box v/ill be despatched to-morrow con- 
taining a translation of all the prose in Mr. Sothe- 
by's book, and of Mrs. Klopstock's letters from the 
dead to the living. Thinking that you would be 

'curious to know at least the subject of the ' Ode to 

^Fanny,' I have attempted an imitation, though as 
Mrs. Lindegren says, it is beyond the power of 
translation. By way of preface to the whole, I 
have sent* The Poem's complaint,' that you may 

^see what poor Klopstock would say to me if he 
could. Mr. Sotheby's book and the letters I return 
Vith thanks. If you wish to have Mr. Klopstock's 
unfinished tragedy of 'The Death of Abel,' it shall 
be done, or any thing else that you bid me to do. 
I fear you will find some German sticking to the 

^translation, which I have not been able to rub off. 

* The youngest son^ now in the navy. 



tC8 MISS smith's live. 

I 

1 have added some of my Sunday work,* for your J 
private amusement. You are so well acquainted 1 
with the subject, and have the power of consulting 
so many books, that you will probably know I am . 
mistaken in many instances, and you will highly 
oblige me by telling me so. Where I may be right, it^ 
is often no more than a lucky guess, and guesses j 
must sometimes prove erroneous. At the bottom j 
of the box you will find a few transparencies done j 
by Kitty and me for your shew-box.f Turpin sends - 
her duty; if she durst, I believe it would be her \ 
\ove,\ — How we wish that Coniston were Middle- 
Hill just now! I do not mean that Coniston should 
be any thing but what it.is, only that it should be as*| 
easy for you to get at it. We should make j^ou^ 
well directly, brace up your nerves with our clear I 
air, delight your eyes with our prospects, and make 
you feel so happy, that you would scarcely believe i 

* Translations of some of the Psalms. 1 

t At Patterdale and Coniston, Miss Smith and her sisters -'»' 
found much employment for the pencil, and I am in possession \ 
of a beautiful set of transparencies, from scenes in that coun- 
try, which prove how well they employed it. Elizabeth dis- ■ 
covered a method of clearing the lights with wax instead of oil , 
or varnish, which I think answers perfectly well. -. \ 

t The faithful servant mentioned by Mrs. Smith. See Ap-1 
pendix: Letter III. 



169 

that yoii ever had felt otherwise; and then how 
happy should zve be!" 

''April 16, 
" Your gratitude to me, dearest friend, is like 
Turpin's duti/ to you, rejected because you owe 
none. The employment has been very delightful to 
me. I could not have got through the winter with- 
out something to engage my thoughts, to fix my 
attention; and I could hardly have found any thing 
that would do this more agreeably than the Klop- 
stocks ; yet^ should have wanted a sufficient motive 
|br spending so much time on them, had not you 
supplied one in the pleasure of doing aiiythmg for 
yoiu You have provided both the subject and the 
motive for action; and thus, on this as on all other 
occasions, I am highly indebted to you. I have 
now sent all that was wanting of the little volume, 
except some of the letters of their friends, which 
seem to throw no particular light on the subject, 
and are only interesting as they shew how much 
the Klopstocks were beloved. If you find this 
packet more incorrect than the former, do not think 
that I am tired of the work; I was only very much 
hurried to get all done in time for my mother's box, 
so much as not to be able to read it over after it was 
written, to see whether the stops had happened to 
fall in the right place. Mr. Satche's speech was 

p 



170 MISS smith's LllE. 

never touched till within the two last hours. Ot 
course I was obliged to send the foul copy unread; 
but it is the facts only that you want, and those you 
have got; no matter in what language, if you can 
but read it. All you desired me to do is, I think, 
now sent. I do not wonder you are disappointed 
in Klopstock's prose : it seemed to me in general 
dull. His wife, I think, writes with more ease. I 
thought it was best to give you every thmg, and 
leave you to weed for yourself. I have accordingly 
been as faithful as I could. You 7ntist reconcile 
yourself to Fanny. I rather think that Klopstock 
was more in love with her than even with your 
favourite Meta; at least the odes which relate to 
her appear to me to be the finest. His second wife 
was a blessing sent by heaven, to make him endure 
existence for the good of the human race. Do not 
b/a?72e him for having been fortunate enough, at 
very different periods of his life, to meet with three 
such women. In truth, he is so great a favourite 
of mine, that I would gladly excuse him at any 
rate. 

. " I never read Peters on Job, nor any thing about 
the Hebrew language, except the book of Dr. Ken- 
nicott's which you lent me, and Lowth's Prselec- 
tions. Parkhurst has been my only guide, but I 
fancy he is a very good one.'' 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 171 

I afterwards rectived from Dr. IMumssen and 
Mrs. Klopsfock other letters and papers, which de- 
layed our intended pablication. Some of these 
were translated by Miss Smith, but others did not 
arrive till she was too ill to attend to them. 

As a specimen of Miss Smith's translations from 
the Hebrew bible, 1 insert Jonah's prayer, and the 
last chapter of Habakkuk. I do not presume to 
form any judgment with regard to these transla- 
tions; but they were shewn to a gentlenian who ir, 
well acquainted with the language, and who was 
requested to give his opinion of them. He said 
that the author had certainly an extraordinary 
knowledge of the Hebrew; that he thought hun 
rather too free for a biblical translator, but he shevr- 
ed great acquaintance with the language, as well as 
a refined taste, and that many of his conjectures 
were eminently happy. This opinion was form- 
ed entirely from a critical examination of the work, 
without any knowledge of the author; whose ac- 
quaintance with the language would certainly ha\c 
appeared much more. extraordinary, had this gen- 
tleman known that these translations, and many 
others from the same sacred book, were the work 
of a young lady who never received any instruction 
with regard to the Hebrew language from any per- 
$0ji whatever. She had no idea of ever ofFerint^ 



172 MISS KMlTli'ti LIJ'K. 

them to the puBlick, and it is now clone principally t© 
i.hew with what attention she pursued this most 
interesting of all studies, and how well she adhered 
to the resolution she had formed, to let the word of 
God be her chief study, and all others subservient 
to it. She translated some chapters in Genesis, the 
whole book of Job, many of the Psalms, some parts 
of the Prophets, &c. She spent some time with me 
in the year 1803, when she brought me her transla- 
tion of Job, and many observations on different parts 
of the Old Testament. We had much conversa- 
tion on such subjects, from which I always derived 
information as well as delight. She had shewn me 
her translation of the eleventh chapter of Genesis, 
in the year 1797, when she was only twenty years 
old; and as it differs considerably from that in the 
English Bible, I requested a friend to shew it to 
Mrs. Carter, who said that the idea was new to her, 
but she thought the w^ords bear that interpretation. 
I was afterwards informed that Sir William Jones 
had given the same interpretation to that chapter. 
1 do not know whether it is mentioned in the Vv orks 
of that great man, from vrhich Miss Smith after- 
wards derived much information, and of which she 
alwa}'s spoke with enthusiastick adm.iration ; but 
thev were not then published. 



173 



" JONAnS PRAYER. 

" Chap, ii, V. 2. 

<' l-taM on Jehovah from my prison, 

And he will hear me; 

From the womb oF the grave I cry, 

Thou hearest my voice. 

Thou hast cast me into wide waters in the depth of the sea, 

And the floods surround me; 

All thy dashing and thy rolling waves 

Pass over me. 

And I said I am expelled 

From before thine eyes; 

that 1 might once more behold 
Thy holy temple! 

The waters on every side threaten my life. 

The deep surrounds me; 

Sea-weed ia the 'binding of my head: 

1 am going down to the clefts of the mountains, 
The earth has shut her bars 

Behind me forever. 

But thou wilt raise my soul from corruption, 

Jehovah, my God! 

In the fading away of my life 

I think upon Jehovah; 

And my prayer shall come unto Thee, 

In thy holy temple. 

♦ Th« binding of the head was a preparation for butia^. 
p2 



i /4 MISS smith's LIFE* 

They \vl:t3 serve false gods 
Forsake ihe fountain of mercy; 
But I with the voice of praise 
Will sacrifice to Thee. 
What I have vowed I will perform, 
Salvation is Jehovah's'." 

'' II.iBAKKUK. 

" The tw^o first chapters of Habakkuk contain a 
prophecy of the invasion of Judea by the Chalde- 
ans, and of the vengeance -which God will take on 
::ie?n for the evils they inflict on his people, whom 
ile promises He will not utterly forsake; " for the 
".irth shall be filled with, the knowledge of the gl^ry 
of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea;" referring 
to the eleventh chapter of Isaiah, vrhich contains a 
clear prediction of the Messiah. The third chapter 
is an ode, apparently intended to be sung by two 
persons, or two companies. No. I. representing 
the Prophet foretelling what is to happen to the 
Jews. No. II. some one recounting the great 
works and deliverances already performed by God, 
as reasons for trusting that He will again deliver his 
people. In the conclusion both parts join in a cho- 
rus of praise. 

" Tht first division is a prediction of the coming 
of Christ. It is answered by a description of God's 
actual appearance on Mount Sinai. 



iiiss smith's life. 17$ 

** Ihc secQ' *.' tells of evils impending on some 
neighbouring nations. Answered by an account of 
tlie deluge, when the ark was saved upon the waves. 

" The thirds a threat of vengeance on the enemies 
of God. Answered by the judgments inflicted on 
Egypt, when the Israelites were brourjht out in 
safety. 

^^Thejourt/i refers immediately to the threatened 
invasion by the Chaldeans. The answer is plain. I 
will yet trust in the Lord, who will at length deliver 
me from my enemies. 

" The whole concludes with a chorus of praise/^ 



^ A SONG IN PARTS, 

"By Habakkuk the Prophet, 
'*UPON JUDGMENT, OR MAGNIFICENT WORKS. 



*• Jehovah! I have heard thy report, 

1 have seen, Jehovah! thy work. 

In the midst of years Thou wilt cause iim to live, 

In the midst of years thou wilt give knowledge, 

In trembling Tho^ wilt cause to remember mercy. 



t76 MISS smith's life. 

II. 
♦^The Almighty came from the south, 
And the Holy One from Mount Paran. Selah. 

His glory covered the heavens. 
And his splendour filled the earth. 
And the brightness was as the light; 
Kays darted from his hands, 
And from the *cloud, the abode of his power, 
Before Hini went the pestilence, 
And glowing fire came forth from his feet. 
He stood, and measured the earth, 
He beheld, and explored the nations. 
And the durable mountains burst asunder, 
The ancient hills fell down. 
His paths in days of old. 

r. 
*• I have seen the tents of Cushan under aSictioK, 
The curtains of the land of Midian shake. 

II. 
" Was Jehovah incensed in the floods? 

Truly in the floods was thy wrath, 

Verily in the water thy fury; 

But Thou madest thy chariot of salvation to ride on the swift 

ones, 

Then didst Thou set to view thy bow. 

The pledge to the tribes for thy word. Selah. 

The floods ploughed vallies in the earth; 

The mountains saw Thee, they travailed, 

* The cloud which accompanied the appearance of Jehe- 



MISS SMITH'S llFE. %^*f 

f crrcnts of water gushed forth. 

rhe abyss uttered his voice, 

rhe sun lift up his hands on high, 

rhe moon stopped in her mansion. 

At the brightness of thy flying arrows, 

At the lightning of thy flashing spear. 

' I. 

" In indignation Thou wilt tread the earth, 

In fury Thou wilt stamp the nations. 

II. 
*'Thor. wentest forth for the salvation of thy people, 
The salvation of thine anointed. 

Thou didst cut oif the first-born from the house of the wicked, 
Thou didst provoke the stubborn to bending, Selah. 

' Thou didst strike the fountain v/ith his rod, 
• *They were scatter'd, fthey came forth like a whirlwind, 
To destroy their flourishing crops, 
While the food of the oppressed was in safety. 
Thou didst walk thy horses through the sea, 

Troubling the great waters. 

I. 
■ «' I heard, and my bowels were moved, 

At the sound my lips quivered, 

Rottenness entered into m.y bones, 

And they trembled beneath me; 
' While I groaned for the day of tribulation, 
I The coming up of the people to assault us. 

" * The frogs scattered over the land. 
\ The flies, locusts, hz. 



^•^^ >nss smith's Lirii^ 



II. 



*' Though the fig-tree do not blossom, 
And there be no fruit on the vine; 
Though the produce of the olive fail, 
And the parched field yield no food; 
Though the flock be cut off from the fold, 
And there be no cattle in the stalls; 
Yet I will rejoice in Jehovah, 
1 will exult in God, my Saviour. 

CHORUS. 

"Jehovah my Lord is my strength. 
He will set my feet as the deer's, 
He will make me to walk on high places." 

" To the Conqueror of my Assailants; 
or. 
To him who causeih me to triumph in my afflictions. 



Continual study of the Hebrew poetry probably 
saggested this Hymn; which is dated Feb. 18, 1803. 

" O Thou! who commandest the storm, 
And stillest its rage with a word; 
Who dark'nest the earth with thy clouds. 
And calFst forth the sun in his strength; 
Who hurlest the proud froinhis throne, 
And liftest the poor from the dust; 
Who sendest afflictions for good. 
And blessings at times for a curse; 
Whose ways are impervious to man, 



MISS smith's life. t79 

Vv'hose decrees we've no power to withstand;— 

Thou hast plac'd me in poverty's vale, 

Yet giv'n me contentment and bliss. 

Should'st Thou e'er set me up on the hill, 

O let not my heart be elate; 

Bit humility ever abide, 

And gratitude rule in my breast; 

Let me feel for the woes of the poor, 

Which now I've no power to relieve, 

Let compassion not end with a tear, 

But charity work for thy sake; 

And the streams of beneficence fall. 

Enriching the valley beneath; 

Then though I'hou should'st wrap me in clouds, 

And threaten the hill with a storm; 

Yet the sun-shine of peace shall break forth, 

And the summit reflect its last ray." 



I am not sure that the following reflections are 
original. They may perhaps oc- i; :.f;blated from the 
German; but the sentiments wita regard to the 
weakness of human reason, and thf". absolute neces- 
sity of divine assistance would certainly please Miss 
Smith, as thev are perfectly in unison with her own 
ideas. 

" It is declared in the Scriptures that the natural 
man knoweth not the things of God, reith^r car he 
comprehend them; and I am convinced that this is 



130 MISS smith's life. 

true. God only requires the heart and its affectioHij 
and after those are wholly devoted to Him, HI 
himself worketh all things within it and for it.— 
' My son, give me thy heart;' and all the rest is con 
formity and obedience. This is the simple grounc 
Qf all religion, which implies a re-union of the soul| 
to a principle which it had lost in its corrupt anci 
fallen state. Mankind have opposed this doctrinei; 
because it has a direct tendency to lay very low the 
pride and elevation of the heart, and the perverse-: 
ness of the will, and prescribes a severe mortifica-i: 
tion to the passions; it will be found, notwithstand-i 
ing, either in time or eternity, a most importam 
truth. : 

" In the Holy Scriptures nothing appears to havel 
^ reference to the great work of salvation, but a rec- 
titude of the heart, and subjection of the will; and 
it is clear to my understanding that it should be so: 
for the mere operations of the ' head, the lucubra- 
tions of reason on divine subjects, are as different 
as iiicn, The natural powers of man may be sanc- 
tified by the influences of religion in the soul, and 
cease from opposition in matters wherein formerly 
they took supreme direction; but until they are inj 
awful silence before God, the work of redemption,'! 
is. unfelt and unknown, 



IMISS SMITH S HIE. 181 

" Religion is an universal concern; the only im- 
portant business of our lives. The learned and the 
ignorant are equally the object of itj and it is highly 
becoming the 1^'ather of Spirits, the friend of man, 
that all the spirits which He has made, should be 
equal candidates for his regard; that his mercy 
should operate upon a principle, of which mankind 
are equal partakers. If the reason of the under- 
standing were alone capable of religious discern- 
ment, nine-tenths of the world would be excluded 
from his providence; but not so does his mercy op- 
erate. He influences by love, and the affections are 
the only objects of it. 

'* Look into the opinions of men, contemplate 
their great diversit}', their complete opposition to 
each other; and where shall the serious, the reflect- 
ing mind find a peaceful station to rest upon? — 
Where shall it find ' the shadow of a mighty rock, 
in a weary land,' of fluctuating devices and tem- 
pests of opinion? Not in human literature, not in 
the inventions of men; but in silence before the God 
of our lives, in pure devotion of the heart, and in 
prostration of the soul. The knee bends before the 
majesty of Omnipotence, and all the powers of the 
mind say. Amen! — In matters so important as pure 
religion, the salvation of the immortal soul, it is 
highly worthy of Divine Wisdom that He should 



,182 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

take the supreme direction to Himself alone, ant; 
not leave any part of the work to the device of man, 
for it is evident to every candid inquirer, that when- 
ver he interferes he spoils it. Religion is of so pure 
.rad spotless a nature, that a touch will contaminate 
it. It is uniform, consistent, and of the same com- 
plexion and character in all nations. Languages 
and customs may greatly differ; but the language 
of pure devotion of the heart to its Maker is one 
and the same over the face of the whole earth. It 
is acknowledged and felt ' through the unity of the 
spirit, in the bond of peace.' There is a harmony 
and consistency in the works of God, external and 
internal; the external operations of nature are strict- 
ly typical of internal things; the visible of the invi- 
sible world. 

"I am convinced that the Author of our being 
has left nothing to man with respect to the forma- 
tion of religion in the mind of a child, but the open- 
ing his path, and clearing his road from the thorns 
and briars of contagious example. The influences 
of man consist in pure example, dispassionate per- 
suasion, and an early subjection of the will to what 
is written in the law of God. The enlightening the 
understanding, the purification of the heart, the ac- 
complishing the course of rectitude to the invisible 
world, and qualifyingthe soul for beatitude among 



MISS smith's life. 183 

the spirits of the just, must be left to Supreme wis- 
dom and mercy. The sciences are of very partial 
concern, are in the hands of a few, and are the pro- 
per objects of human wisdom, and attainable by its 
powers alone; but their centre and their circum- 
scription is in time. From high attainments in these 
the mind of man is taught to v/onder, but I much 
question whether he is often taught to adore. They 
are too apt to raise the mind, to engage a devoted 
idolatrous attention, and fix a supercilious disregard 
to the humble appearance of a meek and quiet spi- 
rit; and if it were possible that they should accom- 
pany the soul from time to eternity, they would 
prove a subject of humiliation before an eye that is 
more extensively opened; yet these may be sancti- 
^ed by the influence of religion." 

I do not know xvken Miss Smith read Mr. Locke's 
Essay on Human Understanding, but it gaye occa- 
sion to the following remarks, wdiich are prefaced 
with a m.odest allusion to her own inferiority to this 
grpt writer, and were never, J. believe, seen by 
any body till after her death, 

" A fly found fav.lt wi'.li one of the finest works of man." 

" Locke's ideas on Infinity appear to nie to want 
his usual clearness. Perhaps the fault is in my own 



184 MISS SMITH'S Lli Jl. 

imderstandlng. I will try to unravel my thoug'; 
oil the subject, and see on which side the errour li. 

. " His manner of representing to himself mjimtij 
is to add together certain known quantities, whether 
of space or duration, as miles, or yef.rs, and when 
tired with multiplication, he contemplates a bound- 
less remainder. This, indeed, serves to bewilder 
the mind in the idea of incomprehensible immensi- 
ty j the remainder which is always left, is a cloud 
that conceals the end; but so far from convincing us 
there is none^ the very idea of a remainder carries 
with it that of an end; and when we have in thought 
passed through so large a part of space or duration, 
we must be nearer the end than when we set out. I 
think the cause of Mr. Locke's confusion on this 
subject is his use of the word/;rtr/^. He says that 
the parts of expansion and duration sire not separa- 
te, even in thought. Then why say they have 
parts? Surely whatever has parts mav be divided 
into those parts, and what is not divisible, even in 
imagination, has no parts. He forgets his own ex- 
cellent definition of time and place, that ' they are 
only ideas of determinate distances, from certain 
known points, fixed in distinguishable, sensible 
things, and supposed to keep the same distance 
one from another;' only marks set up for our use 
while on earth, to help us to ari'ange things in our 



SAiss smith's life. 185 

narrow understandings by shewing their relative 
situations, and not really existing in nature. This 
he forgeta, and having granted that duration and 
expansion have parts, he applies his minutes and his 
inches to measure eternity and infinite space. 
To prove the fallacy of this method, suppose 10,000 
diameters of the earth to be some part, a 10th or 
10,000th part of infinite space; then infinite space 
is exactly 10 times, or 10,000 times, 10,000 diame- 
ters of the earth, and no more. Infinite space has 
certain bounds, which is a contradiction. I'here is 
no impropriety in taking a foot-rule to measure the 
ocean, because multiplied a certain number of times, 
it will give the extent of the ocean; but no multiple 
of what is finite can ever produce infinity; for 
though number abstractedly be infinite, a series of 
numbers may go on continually increasing, yet no 
one of those numbers can express infinity, each being 
in itself a determined quantity. When in the be- 
ginning of a series, two are added together, each of 
those two must be circumscribed, consequently the 
whole circumscribed ad infinitum, — On the contra- 
ry, uniti/ seems much more capable of expressing 
infinity, though we finite beings, incapable at present 
of comprehending it, can form but a vague and in- 
adequate idea. Unity has no bounds, nor, as Mr. 
Locke says, any shadow of variety of composition; 
and to appeal sit once to the highest authority, it is 

q_2 



136 ]Miss smith's LIIL* 

the sign tiiatthe Great Creator has used, as beir ' 
the most proper to convey an idea of Himself to O' 
iinlte understandings. 

*' Succession, without which Mr. Locke says he 
cannot conceive duration, is still a division of it into 
parts. I believe his opinion to be right, that our only 
perception of duration is from the succession of our 
own ideas; but is our perception of it the cause of 
Vls existence? No more than our walking over the 
'•round is the cause of its extension. He grants 
thie, when he sa3's, that during sleep we have no 
perception of duration, but the moment when we fall 
tsleep, and that in which we awake, seem to us to 
have no distance. Since then there may be duration 
without our perception of succession, may it not be 
actually without succession? Where ail things are 
eternal, there can be no relation of the end of one 
to the beginning of another; consequently no time, 
the measure of a relation which does not exist. — 
There is another case in which Mr. Locke thinks a 
man would perceive no succession in duration; — if 
it were possible for him to keep his mind entirely 
fixed on one idea. Does not this apply to the Su- 
preme Being who having always all ideas present to 
his mind, can perceive no succession? As He fills at 
once all space, He exists at once through all eter- 
nity, i do not pretend to have discovered this by 



MISS smith's lul. isr 

^e chain of my own reasoning; it is suggested to me 
y the name which God gives us of Himself. He 
.41s as, not only that He is the existing; but also 
lat He is existence^ present, future, and past, in 
ne: v/hich seems to me to mean, not merely that 
Ic can look forward or backward into a record of 
vents, but that there is no succession in his dura- 
ion; that v/hat we call present, past, and future, are 
Iways equally present; that all is perfect unity; there 
5 no variety or shadow of changing. Many passa- 
•es might be brought from Scripture to confirm this 
)pinion, and some, which I think are not intelligible 
vithout it; such as, 'a thousand years are with Him 
IS one day;' 'before Abraham was, lam;' 'time 
ihall be no longer;* ' there was no place found;' an- 
iwer exactly to Locke's definition above, and prove 
;hat there is no division in eternity or infinite space. 
The dispute about foreknowledge and free-will 
alight be settled by viewing the subject in this light. 
If there be no succession in the existence of God, 
if the past and future be equally present, He sees 
the whole course of our lives at once, as clearly as 
any particular moment which we now call present, 
without influencing our actions more at one point of 
time than at another. The infinite divisibility of 
matter too may be denied, on the ground that what 
admits of division or multiplication j cannot be infi- 
nite* 



188 MlSJf SMITH S MljL. 

" I have observed another inaccuracy in Locke, 
as spots are most visible on the whitest substance. 

" He defines knowledge to be ' the perception of 
the agreement or disagreement of any of our ideas.' 
So far weih but to be certain that it is real know- 
ledge, he says, ' we must be sure those ideas agree 
with the reality of things.' This is also true; but 
as we have no perception of things but by means of 
sensation, and we have often, on a closer inspection, 
discovered that our senses have deceived us, how- 
can v/e know that they do not always deceive us? If 
we cannot know this, we cannot be sure that our 
ideas agree with the reality of things, consequently 
cannot attain to any real knowledge during this life. 
We can only believe testimony which upon experi- 
ence we have reason to think true, and can be said 
absolutely to know nothing but what God has been 
pleased to reveal. If it be asked, how we know he, 
has revealed any thing to us? the answer is, w^e can 
only believe it; but on examining the testimony, we ' 
find there is full as good proof that we have revela- 
tions from God himself in the scriptures, as that any 
object of sensation is what it appears to be; If 
therefore we grant our assent to the one, why refuse j 
it to the other? And having once established that we 
have revelations from God himself in the scriptures,' 
'it follows, that what is so revealed must be true; and 



iflSS SMITH S LliK. 189 

ihatfrom thence we may reap real knowledge, V/hat- 
ev'er else we call knowledge, it is either mere con- 
jecture^ or derived through some channel or other 
from revelation. Of this I am the more convinced 
by observing ideas current amongst men, which it 
seems impossible they should originally form. Such 
is the idea of a God, of infinity, and eternity; for 
notwithstanding the boasted powers of human rea- 
son, and the light of nature,^^— since I find them 
incapable of discovering the essence of the most 
familiar object, or of taking the first step in any 
science, — I have great reason to doubt their pov/er 
of discovering the being of God; and infinity and 
eternity never coming within their perception, I am 
persuaded men never could form such ideas. There- 
fore if they were led by the contemplation of nature 
to conjecture there must be some cause of all the 
wonders it presents, they would still seek for some 
cause of that cause, and merely be lost in endless 
speculations. If it be objected, that some of the 
ancient philosophers had the idea of infinity, and 
that the existence of a God is believed by most 
nations : I answer, it was not human reason made 
those discoveries; if it werc,whyjiave not all nations 
equal lights, all having the same guide? On the 



* I wish to ask what Mr. Locke means by the light ot 
nature, when he has proved that we have no innate ideas? 



190 

contrary, I have no doubt that whatever vagite ideas 
of Deity, are found in any country, might, if we 
knew the exact history of its inhabitants, be traced 
to the original revelation to Adam, to Noah, &c. 
preserved or corrupted by tradition. This has been 
done in a great measure with respect to some of the 
Indian nations, by Sir William Jones and others, 
and it still remains a fine field for future research. 
If we examine those nations of antiquity which had 
the most nearly adequate ideas of the Deity, Ave 
shall find them to be those which were favoured 
with the most frequent revelations. The Jews clear- 
ly stand foremost in both these respects ; and why 
yhould they, who were never thought superiour to 
the Greeks in abilities, be supposed capable of more 
sublime ideas, unless they received them from re- 
velation? Why should some of the Greek philoso- 
phers come so much nearer the truth than others of i 
not inferiour capacities, but that, besides the vulgar, 
belief of their country, (the corruption of original' 
revelation) they received instruction from some of 
the Jews, or from the study of the Sybilline Ora- 
cles, and the verses of Orpheus? If, on the contrary,: 
we look at those nations furthest removed in time 
and place from the centre of' dispersion, as the! 
savages of America, Africa, he, those particular! 
who, having had the least commerce with the rt 
of the world, come nearest to our ideas cf natur 



191 

we find that their reason, though unwarped by the 
prejudices of education, far from leading them to 
saperiour knowledge, and a more intimate acquaint- 
ance with God and his works than is to be met with 
in civilized society, has left them but one degree 
above the brutes they associate with. Original re- 
velation, not only of the existence of a God, but of 
all arts and sciences, except perhaps those most 
immediately necessary to existence, being in some 
entirely worn out, in others so mutilated and de- 
Faced as scarcely to be recognized ; — in the midst of 
this darkness no genius starts up with the discovery 
of abstract truthj there does not seem even to be 
:my progress in improvement; for the accounts of 
3ome of them at this day agree exactly with what 
jvas written of them ages ago. If then mv^n were 
:)riginally created in the savage state, how came the 
improvements we e)bserve amongst ourselves, since 
ivhen reduced again to that state, we see him inca- 

able of taking the first step towards getting out of 
1 1? I think this is the fair way of stating the parallel 
between human reason and divine revelation; for 

hough all knowledge would still come from God, 

f he made man capable of discovering it, it seems to 
TiQ plain that He has not done so; and therefore we 

hould do well to apply to his word for instruction 
'.n the first place, as being the only fountain of redl 

nowledge." 



192 MISS SMITHS LIllJ. 

The family had resided five years at Coniston, \ 
znd had enjoyed very good health. Elizabeth was 
particularly fond of the place, and the air seemed 3 
to agree with her better than any other. The 
beauty of the surrounding scenery, her enthusias- 
tick admiration of such magnificent and sublime ' 
views as that country aifords, and her taste for 
drawing certainly led her to trust too much to the 
strength of her excellent constitution, and to use*, 
more exercise than was good for herj but it did not 
appear to disagree with her, and I do not know that 
there was any cause of alarm in regard to her health; 
till the fatal evening in July 1805, which is mention-4 
ed by Mrs. Smith in a letter to Dr. Randolph, to^^ 
which I refer the reader.* It was on the 17th of] 
October 1805, that Miss Smith arrived at Bath in^j 
the sad state which that letter describes. What 1 
felt at this meeting may be easily imagined. During; 
the few days which she spent with me, the skill oft 
Dr. Gibbes, and the care of the tenderest of parents, 
appeared to be attended with all the benefit we 
could expect. She had lost her voice, as well a;^ 
the use of her limbs; but she enjoyed society, and 
expressed particular pleasure in meeting Mr. De 
Luc, who spent some hours with us. When she 
was able to be removed to the house of her kin^ 

* See Appendix: Letter III. jj 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 193 

rienJs Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, in Somerset-place, 
I went to Clifton, where a dangerous illness detain- 
ed me, till my extreme anxiety to see Miss Smith 
before she left Bath, determined me to return on 
the 21st of December. My dear friend came to 
me the next morning, and appeared so much better 
in every respect, that I was led to cherish hopes 
which lessened the pain of our approaching parting. 
She could then converse witii ease and pleasure, 
and walk without difficulty; and the last hours Vvhich 
I was ever to enjoy with her in this world, were 
some of the, most delightful that I ever spent. She 
anxiously wished to be removed to Sunbury to see 
her amiable sister before her marriage; and after 
sleeping one night at my hous^, she set out for that 
place with Mrs. Smith, and I sa«v her no more. 

A letter writt^m immediately after her removal 
ifrom Bath, to her kind friend Mrs. Claxton, shews 
how much better she was 'n that time, and that she 
WLis able to resume some of htr favourite pursuits. 

I "TO MRS. CLAXTON. 

" Sunbunj^ Dec. 28, 1805. 
" Dear Madam, 
<* Having no excuse of illness for employing an 
amanuensis, I take the pen myself to thanl^ you for 

Pv 



194 MISS SMITH S LIFE. 

all your goodness to me, of which I assure you I 
shall always retain a grateful sense. The good 
effects of your nursing now appear. I was certainly 
somewhat fatigued with the journey, and for the 
first two days after I arrived, was but indifferent ; 
but yesterday and to-day I am astonishingly well, 
have learnt to sleep, and cough but little. I have 
been thus particular in the account of myself, be- 
cause, from the kind interest you and Mr. Claxton 
take in my welfare, I know you would wish it. 

" I am very busy tracing the situation of Troy, in 
Mr. Geli's book, and am very well satisfied with it. 
Yesterday we took an airing to Hampton-Court 
and Twickenham. The day was delightful, and the 
air seemed to give me new life. 

" Kitty returns her best thanks for all your good 
wishes, and hopes to make her acknowledgments 
more fully in person. You have perhaps heard 
that she is to be married on Wednesday, and go 

to . 

'■'■ With grateful and affectionate respects to Mr, 
Claxton, I remain, dear Madam, 
" Your ever obliged, &c. 

*^ E. SMITH." 



MISS smith's life. 195 

For some time after she arrived at Sir John Le- 
gard's at Sanbury, Elizabeth was able to enjoy the 
agreeable society which that house affords, to walk 
out a little, and to take constant exercise in a car- 
nage; but these favourable appearances did not 
continue long. I had a letter in which she hinted 
at the dangerous state in which she evidently 
thought she was; and an extract from one written^ 
to her beloved sister speaks the same language' 
with regard to her health. 

" March 2Sth. 
" I want you, my Kitty, to be as composed on 
this subject as I am myself. You must not be 
frightened when you hear I am worse, nor because^ 
It is said that I am better, suppose that I am to be 
immediately well; for both mean nothing, and per- 
laps last but a few hours. I have myself a decided 
opinion of the probability of the event, and I see no 
cindness in feeding you with fldse hopes. I wish 
^ou to be prepared for what you, though not /, 
vould call the xvorst. I do not mean that'there are' 
my symptoms to cause immediate alarm, but the 
:onstitution seems to be wearing out; that however^ 
nay be restored by the warm air of the spring and 
ummer. Assure Mr. Allan of my esteem and 
egard, and tell him I shall never forget his kind 
ttentions to me," &c. 



i-i;j - jMISS SMITH S LITE. 

To her friend Mrs. Wilmot she writes thus: 

" Coniston, July 4, 1806. 
" I am sure, my dear Mrs. Wilmot has not attri-J 
buted to unkindiiess or neglect, any of those trnpos- 
s'lhle things, my keeping unanswered a most kind I 
letter of her's, from January to July. The case is 
this : I thought you had heard enough of me while 
iTiv mother was at Bath. After she came to Sun-s 
bury, we v/ere always gohv^\ and I was never wellf 
enough, or quiet enough, to vvrite to you as I liked;; 
besides, I thought I should v;rite from Matlock,, 
where I should fancy that you were present, andl 
that I was talking to 3-ou. Often, indeed, did we. 
talk of you, and wish for you there; but there again' 
there was no quiet, and I never felt equal to writinw 
or doing any tiling. In short, I have never had a 
pen in my hand from the time I left Sunbury, till 
now; and nov^^, if my father v;ere not going to-morJ 
row, I should put off writing, in hopes of being 
more able to say something to you some other day* 
This, however, I can say to-day, or any day; — thaJ' 
though my strength has failed, my memory and ai- 
fections have not; and that while they remain, )'Oi 
vrill ever hold your place in the one, and your shard 
in the other. I am much concerned at the account^ 

which I hear of you. -It is very tedious to suffe^ 

,^■0 ioi5g; but we shall all be better soon. 



MISS SMITH S LIFE. 19/ 

** As to myself, of whom I know you will wish to 
hear something, I do very well when the sun shines, 
and the wind is in the south; I seem then to inhale 
new life at every pore; but if a northern blast spring 
up, (my original enemy,) I seem to shrink and with- 
er like a blighted leaf. To avoid this enemy, I am 
obliged to keep the house, which is not at all fa- 
vourable to a recovery. I have been as ill, I think, 
since I came home, as I have ever been; but better 
the few last days, which have been fine ones. My 
mother is all kmdness and attention to me, and 
Turpin is the best nurse in the world ; but all this 
care will turn to no account, unless the summer 
should happen to be a fine one. I am perfectly easy 
as to the event, and only wish I were not so trouble- 
some to others. You would love Louis, if you 

knew how thoughtful and attentive he has been to 
I me. He will be a great loss to me, and to my moth- 
er a still greater; for he is her constant companion, 
land a very entertaining one. My mother desires 
;me to say every thing that is kind for her; but in- 
deed I have so much to say for myself, and am so 
totally incapable of saying it, that I must leave vou 
to fidl up the blank with what you know of us both, 
not forgetting that Mrs. Bateman is always to have 
her full share. Your ever affectionate, &c/' 



R 2 



198 MISS smith's lite. 

From the time that Mrs. Smith left Bath, which 
was about the end of March, the accounts which I 
received in ail her letters, most strongly painted the 
anguish which her too tender heart felt, while watch- 
ing the gradual approach of the dreaded event which 
»li.e had from the first considered as inevitable. On 
the 9th of July, Capt. Smith and his youngest son 
Louis spent some hours with me in their way to ' 
Plymouth, and brought me a letter from Elizabeth, ' 
of which the following is an extract. It is the last 
that I ever received from that dear hand! 

" Having <letermined to send a fev/ lines by my 
father to my best of friends, before your kind and j 
most welcome letter arrived, I am not now disobey- ■ 
ing your commands by writing, but fulfilling my i 
own previous intention. I can never thank you 
enouo-h for all the kind interest vou take in me and i 
niy health. I wish my friends were as composed j 
about it as I am; for, thanks to you and your ever 
dear and respected mother, I have learnt to look on - 
life and death w^ith an equal eye, and knowing where ,'* 
my hope is fixed, to receive every dispensation of ' 
Providence with gratitude, as intended for my ulti- 
mate good. The only wish I ever form, and even 
that I check, is that my illness might be more se-.^ 
';re, so it might be shortened; that I might not .1 



Miss SIMITH's LliE. 199 

keep my father and mother so long in suspense with 
regard to all their plans, and occasion so much 
trouble and anxiety to my friends. — I should like 
to say much to you on this subject, but I am pressed 
for time, and as you may see, I do not make a very 
good hand of writing. You inquire how the chaijge 
of weather affected me: As much as } ou can possi- 
bly suppose. During the hot weather I really thought 
1 should get rid of the cough; but with the cold, 
every symptom returned as strong as ever. Yester- 
day and to-day have been warm and pleasant. I get 
into the tent where I now am, and revive. We shall 
indeed lose a great comfort vrhen Louis goes. He 
has been most kindly attentive to me." he, &c. 

In my answer to this letter I did not attempt to 
deceive mj' friend; I knew her too well to think it 
necessary or right to do so. I wrote as to a Chris- 
tian on the verge of eternity, and whose whole life, 
as her mother justly observes, had been a prepara- 
tion for death. I received her thanks tor my letter, 
in a most kind message conveyed to me by Mrs. 
Smith, who spoke in every letter of increasing ill- 
ness, — till in one which she kindly addressed to my 
friend Mrs. Davies, she said, " this morning the 
angel spirit fled!" 



203 MISS smith's lite. 

At Hawkshead, where she was interred, a small 
Tablet of Wiiite Marble is erected to her memory, 
on which are inscribed the following words— 

IN MEMORY 

OF 

ELIZABETH, 

Eldest daughter of deorge Smithy Esquire^ 
OF CONISTON. 

She died August 7, 1806, aged 29. 

She possessed 

Great Talents, exalted Virtues, and humble Piety. 



APPENDIX. 



LETTERS 



TROM 



MRS. SMITH TO THE REV. DR. RANDOLPH, 

Written after the death of Miss Smith. 



LETTER I. 

" Co7iiston, 1 80r. 
'' I AM gratified, my dear Sir, in complying with 
your wish, because the request proyes that the es- 
teem which you professed for my l^eloved daugh- 
ter's character, is not buried Vv ith her in the grave ; 
and because it justifies me to myself for dwelling so 
much on a subject, on which I have a melancholy 
pleasure in reflecting. I shall repress the feelings 
and partialiiy of a parent, and merely state a fevr 
simple facts, connected with the progress of her 
mind. 

" Elizabeth was born at Burnhall, in the county 
of Durham, in December 1776. At a very early 



-204 APPENDIX. 

age she discovered that love of readhig, and that 
close application to whatever she engaged in, which 
marked her character through life. She was ac- 
customed, when only three years old, to leave an 
elder brother and younger sister to play and amuse 
themsel\^es, while she eagerly seized on such books 
as a nursery library commonly affords, and made 
herself mistress of their contents. At four years of 
age she read extremely well. What in others is usu- 
allv the effect of education and habit, seemed born 
with her; from a very babe the utmost regularity 
was observable in all her actions; whatever she did 
was rvell done^ and with an apparent reflection far 
beyond her years. 1 mention these minute circum- 
stances, because I know that whatever portrays 
^er character will interest the friend for whose peru- 
sal I write. 

" In the beginning of 1782, we removed into a 
distant county, at the earnest entreaty of a blind re- 
lation; and in the following year, my attendance on 
him becoming so necessary as daily to engage seve- 
ral hours, at his request I was induced to take a 
young lady, whom he wished to serve, in conse- 
quence of her family having experienced some sevi^re 
misfortunes. This lady was then scarcely sixteen, 
and I expected merely to have found a companion 
for my children during my absence; but her abilities 



APPENDIX. ^Oo 

exceeded her years, and she became their governess 
during our stay in Suffolk, which was about 18 
months. On the death of my relation in 1784, we 
returned to Burnhall, and remained there till June 
in the following year, when we removed to Pierce- 
field. In the course of the preceding winter Eliza- 
beth had made an uncommon progress in musick. 
From the time of our cjuitting Suffolk, till the spring 
of 1786, my children had no instruction except from 
myself; but their former governess then returned 
to me, and continued in the family three years lon- 
ger. By her the children were instructed in French, 
and in the little Italian which she herself then un- 
derstood. I mention these particulars to prove how 
very little instruction in languages my daughter re- 
ceived, and that the knowledge she afterwards ac-^ 
quired of them was the effect of her own unassisted 
study. 

" It frequently happens that circumstances appa- 
rently trifling determine our character, and some- 
times even our fate in life. I always thought tliat 
Elizabeth was first induced to a;:ply herself to the 
study of the learned languages, by accidentally hear- 
ing that the late Mrs. Bowdler acquired, some 
knovi' dge of Hebrew and Greek, purposely to read 
the Iloiy Scriptures in the original languages. In 
the summer of 1789, this most excellent woman, 



206 ' , APPENDIX. 

with her youngest daughter, spent a month at 
Piercefield, and I have reason to hail it as one of 
the happiest ncionths of rny life. From that period 
to the hour of her death, I had in Mrs. Bowdler 
the . steadiest, the most affectionate of friends; a 
friend, who had at heart not only the temporal, but 
the cternalhappinessof myself and family; and who, 
in proportion as summer friends flew off, became 
yet more attached to me. 

" From the above-mentioned visit I date the term 
of study which Ehzabeth ever after pursued, and 
which I firmly believe, the amiable conduct of our 
guests first led her to delight in. Those who knew 
the late Mrs. Bowdler, could not withhold from her 
their love and reverence. With young persons she 
had a manner peculiar to herself, which never failed 
to secure their affections, at the moment she con- 
veyed to their minds the most important instruct- 
ions. The word of God was her chief study and 
delight, and she always endeavoured to make it so 
to others. The uncommon strength of her under- 
standing, and the clearness with which she explain- 
ed the most abstruse subjects, ensured her the ad- 
miration and respect of all who heard her; and none 
listened with more attention than Elizabeth, on 
whose young mind every good and amiable princi- 
ple was afterwards strongly impressed by Mrs. H. 



APPENDIX. 20r 

Bowdler. My diuighter was then only twelve years 
old; but her superiour talents iind turn of mind 
gained the valuable affeccion of her much older 
friend, who never lost an opportunity of improving 
the former, and of forming the latter. As a proot 
of the correctness of this assertion, I send you a let- 
ter v^ritten by Mrs. H. Bowdler to my daughter ou 
her being confirmed, and which I have reason to 
believe made all the impression my excellent friend 
intended, and was ever afterwards the standard by 
which she formed her character. 

" I am, dear Sir, &c." 



MUS. H. BOWDLER TO MISS SMITH. 

{Sent to Dt\ Randolph -with the preceding Letter. 2 

'' December 1791. 
" My dear Friend^ 
"■ You are now entering on what appears to me 
the most important period of life, and let me hope 
that my anxiety for your happiness, and the tender 
affection which I feel for you, will plead my excuse 
for troubling you with a few observations upon it. 
In childhood, our actions are under the control of 
others, and we are scarcely answerable for them; 
but from the period when we renew our baptismal 



208 APPENDIX. 

VOW in Confirmation, and solemnly fledi"cate our- 
selves to the service of our Creator and Redeemer 
by receiving the Holy Eucharist, we must be consi* 
dered as thinking and acting for ourselves; though 
still subject to the commands, and happv in the ad- 
vice, of our parents. You have, I presume, been 
sufficiently instructed in all the necessary articles of 
feith; but I know you think deeply on all subjects, 
and if you feel any doubts, or see any difficulties, in 
the Christian Religion, this is the time when you 
should endeavour to satisfy yourself with regard to 
them, and perhaps my library might afford you that 
satisfaction, if you would indulge me with your con- 
iidence, and mention them to me. The necessary 
articles of faith appear to me few and simple, and 
rather addressed to the heart than the head. The 
Gospel was preached to the poor and ignorant, as 
well as to the learned; and the seed sprung up and 
bore fruit, whenever it fell on good ground* But 
those who have abilities and opportunity, should 
spare no pains to examine the evidences which 
liave convinced some of the wisest men that ever 
lived, of the divine authority of the Holy Scrip- 
tures, and such an examination is particularly ne- 
cessary in the present times. When we are con- 
vinced that the Bible is the word of God, and the 
rule of our faith and practice, nothing remains but 
to listen with reverence and devotion to the divine 



APPENDIX. 209 

instruction it contains, and to believe, on the autho- 
rity of God, what our weak reason could never have 
discovered, nor can fully comprehend. The humble, 
pious, and virtuous mind, v/hich willingly accepts 
the gracious promises of the Gospel, and is fully re- 
solved to practise the duties it enjoins, will seldom 
be disturbed by those objections to its doctrines 
which have been often answered to the satisfaction 
of the best and wisest men. The Christian religion 
is so suited to a feeling heart, that I think we can 
want no arguments for its truth, except those which 
are drawn from its evident tendency to make us 
virtuous and happy. To love the God v/ho created 
and redeemed us ; to express our gratitude for in- 
fmite obligations, by the sincere though imperfect 
service of a few years; to cast all our care on Him 
who careth for us; and, secure in his protection, to 
banish every gloomy apprehension which might dis- 
turb our peace; — this surely must appear an easy 
task to those who know and feel the pleasure of even 
an earthly friendship: but when w^e add to this the 
certainty that our endeavours to please will be not 
only accepted, but rewarded; when every Christian 
can say, ' after a few years, perhaps after a few 
hours, I shall, if it is not my own fault, be happy, 
perfectly happy to all eternity;' surely, with such 
encouragements and such hopes, no temptation 
should have power to draw us from our duty. Yet 

s 2 



■iiO APPENDIX. 



when we look into the world, when we see how lit- 
tle influence these principles have in society, and 
liow seldom they guard the heart against the allure- 
ments of pleasure, or support it under the pressure 
of affliction ; it must be evident to every thinking 
mind, that very great and constant care is necessa- 
ry to preserve through life those good resolutions? 
which I believe most people form when they enter 
into it. For this purpose allow me to recommend 
constant devotion, A few minutes spent every 
morning and evening in this duty will be the best 
preservative against tha temptations to which we 
must be exposed; but in order to make it really use- 
ful, it should be accompanied with self-examination, 
and it should be followed by such an habitual sense 
of the presence of God as may influence our con- 
duct in every part of our life. In our gayest as well 
as in our gravest moments; in our studies, and our 
pleasures; in the tender intercourse of friendship; 
in the sprightly sallies of a conversation which seems 
only intended for amusement; still we should be 
able to turn our thoughts with heartfelt satisfaction 
to that tender Parent to whom we owe all our guilt- 
less pleasures. ' Whether ye eat or drink, or what- 
ever ye do, do all to the glory of God.' The busi- 
ness in which we cannot ask his protection and as- 
sistance, cannot be an innocent pursuit; the amuse- 
ment for which we dajre not thank Him, cannot be 



APPENDIX. 211 

an innocent pleasure. This rule strongly impressed 
on the mind, and applied to every circumstance in 
life, will be a constant guard over virtue in all situa- 
tions, and a constant check to every thought as well 
as action w^hich is contrary to our duty, — Such, I 
think, should be the piety of a true christian, and 
such piety will undoubtedly afford the highest plea- 
sures we are capable of feeling in this world, while 
it guards that virtue which v/ill secure our happi- 
ness in the next. But to entitle ourselves to this 
intercourse with our God, we must carefully and 
constantly attend to the state of our souls, by fre- 
quent and diligent self-examination. As this ap- 
pears to me a point of great importance at all times, 
and particularly as preparatory to receiving the 
Holy Sacrament, allow me to explain more fully 
what I took the liberty of saying when w^e conversed 
on this subject, 

" At our entrance into life, (by which I mean the 
period which follows the total dependence of child- 
hood) it is necessaiy to obtain a just idea of our 
own character, and of our own particular duties. 
Nobody is so perfect as not to have a tendency to 
some fault. Pride, passion, fretfulness, obstinacy, 
indolence, and many other failings, are perhaps bom 
with us, and whoever has not discovered one or 
more of these in his heart, certainly does not know 



^^^ APPENDIX. 

himself. Let us then, as the first step toward-i 
wisdom and virtue, carefully study our own cha 
racter, and determine where our principal dange' 
lies; and remember, as my beloved sister observes' 
that ^he who hns discovered a fault in his character; 
and entreated God's assistance to conquer it, has: 
engaged Omnipotence on his side.' 

'' The next point to be considered Is our particu- 
lar situation, and the duties it requires. It is vaim 
to suppose we could do better in different circum- 
stances, or to think diat our imaginary merits willl 
cover our real faults; we are not to choose our own, 
part in life, but to act properly that which is assigned! 
to us. What are my particular duties? How can I 
best serve God ? How can I most contribute to the 
happiness of those with whom I am connected? 
How can I employ my time and my talents to the 
best advantage? What are the errours into which I 
am most likely to fall? Do I hurt those whom I am 
most bound to please, by pride, peevishness, or 
contempt; or do I make them happy by constant 
kindness, gentleness, and long-suffering? I'hese 
are questions which every human being should ask 
his own heart, and which only his own heart can 
answer. From an examination of this kind, I should 
wish every one who really aims at christian perfec- 
tion to make out in writing a plan of life suited to 



APPENDIX. , 2iS 

his particular situation and character, and resohite- 
ly determine to act up to it. This requires time 
and reflection; but this once done, our task will be 
l-nuch easier afterwards. A few minutes every night 
should be spent in considering how far we have 
conformed to that plan through the day, which I 
think is most easily discovered by considering how 
the day has been spent; for every thing, be it ever 
so trifling, if it is to be done at all, may be done 
rVell OY ill, — Did I attend to my devotions in the 
morning? Have I done good, or contributed to the 
happiness of others; or have I given pain to any 
human being by unkindness? Have I been surprised 
by those faults, whatever they are, which I have 
most reason to dread; or have I carefully avoided 
them? — Such questions constantly asked, and im- 
partially ansvv'ered, will prevent our acquiring wrong 
habits ; and nothing is unconquerable^ which is not 
habitual. Bishop Andrews says, * sleep is so like 
dea,th, that I dare not venture on it without prayer;' 
and I think it would be well if we considered it in 
that light, and m.ade our peace with God at the end 
of every day, as if it were the last we should enjoy. 
I am sure the habit of doing this would greatly les- 
sen the horrours of that awful period, when we 
must make up our accounts, however painful it 
may be to us. When habit has made this easy, 
little more will l>e necessary to guard us against that 



'214 APPENDIX. 

self-deceit which is our most dangerous enemy; but 
s^t stated times, as at the beginning of every year, and^ 
when we intend to receive the Sacrament, it will be 
useful to take a general review of our past life, and 
compare it with the plan we had determined to pur- 
sue, in order to see how far we have kept the good 
resolutions we had formed, and in what respect itt 
is most necessary to guard our future conduct. 

" Perhaps, my dear young friend, I have said] 
nothing v/hich your own good sense would not pointt 
out to you much better than I am capable of doings 
it, and I have taken a liberty for which I can only/ 
plead the advantage which very moderate talentss 
7nust gain from experience. I have lived longer ini 
the world than you, and have felt the ill effects of^ 
many errours which I hope you will avoid; but it 
have also sometimes felt the good effects of those:? 
principles, and that line of conduct which I wish to 
recommend to you, and in which I trust Providenceo 
will guide you to eternal happiness, &c. &c." 



LETTER 11. 

MRS. SMITH TO THE REV. DR. RAIS^ 
DOLPH. 

" At the age of thirteen, Elizabeth became a sort 
if govei-ness to her younger sisters, for I then part- 
ed with the only one I ever had, and from that time 
:he progress she made in acquiring languages, both 
ancient and modern, was most rapid. This degree 
of information, so unusual in a woman, occasioned 
no confusion in her well regulated mind. She was 
a living library; but locked up except to a chosen 
few. Her talents were 4ike bales unopened to the 
sun;' and from a want of communication were not 
as beneBcial to others as they might have been; for 
her dread of being called a learned lady caused such 
an excess of modest reserve as perhaps formed the 
greatest defect in her character. But I will go back 
to the period of which I was speaking. 

" When Elizabeth was fifteen years old, we were 
reading Warrmgton's History of Wales, in which 
he mentions the death of Llewellyn ap Gryffydd, 
as happening on the banks of the Wye, at a place 
which he calls Buillt, and its having been occasioned 
by his being pierced with a spear, as he attempted 



•21 S APPENDIX, 

to make his escape through a grove. We amused 
ourselves by supposing that Llewellyn's death must 
have happened in our grove, where two large stones 
were erected (as we chose to imagine) to commem- 
orate that event; and that the adjoining groundss 
were from thenceforth called Pierce field. This5 
conversation gave rise to a poem, of which Mrs. H.. 
Bow^dler has a copy, with other papers on the same: 
subject, for a sight of which I refer you to her. 

" When a reverse of fortune drove us fromi! 
Piercefield, my daughter had just entered her se-i 
venteenth year, an age at which she might have 
been supposed to have lamentrd deeply many con- 
sequent privations. Of the firmness of her mind 
on that occasion, no one can judge better than your- 
self; for you had an opportunity to observe it, when 
immediately after the blow was struck, you oifered, 
from motives of generous friendship, to undertake 
a charge which no pecuniary considerations could 
induce you to accept a few months before. I do 
not recollect a single instance of a murmur having 
escaped her, or the least expression of regret at 
what she had lost; on the contrary, she always ap- 
peared contented; and particularly after our fixing 
at Coniston, it seemed as if the place and mode of 
life wcire such as she preferred, and in which she 
was most happy. 



APPENDIX. 217 

*' I pass over in silence a time in which we had 
no home of oar own, and when, from the deranged 
state of our affairs, we were indebted for one to the 
kindness and generosity of a friend ;=^ nor do I 
speak of the time spent in Ireland, when following 
the regiment with my husband, because the want of 
a setded abode interrupted those studies in which 
my daughter most delighted. Books are not light 
of carriage, and the blow which deprived us of 
Piercefield, deprived us of a library also. But 
though this period of her life afforded little oppor- 
tunity for improvement in science, the qualities of 
her heart never appeared in a more amiable light. 
Through all the inconveniences which attended our 
situation while living in barracks, the firmness and 
cheerful resignation of her mind at the age of nine- 
teen, made me blush for the tear which too fre- 
quently trembled in my eye, at the recollection of all 
the comforts we had lost. 

" In October 1800, we left Ireland, and deter- 
mined on seeking out some retired situation in Eng- 
land; in the hope that by strict economy, and with 
the blessing of cheerful, contented minds, we might 
yet find something like comfort; which the freoucnt 
change of quarters with four children, and the then 

* Mrs. Morgan, now Mrs. George Snciith. 



218 APPENDIX. 

insecure state of Ireland, made it impossible to feel| 
notwithstanding tbejvind and generous attention we 
invariably received from the hospitable inhabitants 
of that country. — We passed the winter in a cottage 
on the banks of the Lake of Uls water, and continued 
there till the May following, when w^e removed to 
our present residence at Coniston. This country 
had many charms for f^lizabeth. She drew correct-^ 
ly from nature, and her enthusiastick admiration of 
the sublime and beautiful often carried her beyond 
the bounds of prudent precaution with regard to her;^ 
health. Frequently in the summer she was out' 
during twelve or fourteen hours, and ii>^ that time, 
walked many miles. When she returned at nigh^ 
she was always more cheerful than usual; never said 
she was fatigued, and seldom appeared so. It is- 
astonishing how she found time for all she acquired,, 
and all she accomplished. Nothing v. as neglected;; 
there was a scrupulous attention to all the minutias; 
of her sex; for her well regulated mind, far fromi 
despising them, considered them as a part of that; 
system of perfection at which she aimed; an aim 
which was not the result of vanity, nor to attract 
the applause of the world; no human being ever 
sought it less, or was more entirely free from conceit; 
of every kind. The approbation of God and of her 
own conscience were the only rewards shr- ever 
soughtj but her own w^ords declare this truth much^ 



APPENDIX. ^^^ 

lore Ibixibly than I can, in a^ paper which is now 
i Mrs. H. Bowdler's possession* 

" Her translation from the Book of Job was frn- 
.ied in 1803. During the last two years of her 
fe, she was engaged in translating from the Ger- 
.an some letters and papers, written by Mr. and 
-Irs. Klopstock. Amongst her papers I founa a 
tter from Mrs. H. Bowdler on this subject, dated 
diddlehill, near Bath, March 1805, in which she 
ays, ' my endeavours to obtain a clear account ok 
he new edition of Klopstock^s Works have been 
unsuccessful, but I still hope that I shall very soon 
•no- whether it contains any thing new, ox wonh 
■ending to you. In the mean time, if you are not 
ired, let me have ^^ry thing v/rittcn by Mrs, 
^lopstock. We can determine on nothmg till we 
lave got all our treasures.' The rest of this letter 
loes not particularly relate to my daughter, but 1 
:annot forbear copying it, for a reason that will be 
3bvious to ym^ ' .^liss Hunt and I wished for a 
iittle country air, and perfect quiet. We are m a 
loveiv spot; not possessing the sublime beauties ot 
your'country, but the prettiest, cheerful scene mi a- 
ginable; ornamented with little neat cottages, fields 
covered with lambs, fine trees; and the whole beau- 
tifuUy varied with hili and dale. To me it has still 



.220 APPENDIX. 

greater charms, as it is my native country, the scene 
®f my early happiness : 

* Where erst my careless cliildhood stvayM, 
A stranger yet to pain!' 

%iyjirst house is always before my eyes, and ii: / 
last^ is so near that I can listen to the bell \vhich\ 
tolled for those who were most dear to me on earth,, 
and visit the humble tomb where I hope to rest-, 
with them. Do you remember how often, during; 
the last weeks of her life, and after her faculties? 
were much weakened by illness, my dearest mother" 
used to say to herself, * Verily there is a reward foif 
Vile righteous?' We have placed these words on the 
stone which covers a vault, in which a little space 
remains for me. God grant that I may have reasoai 
to repeat them in my last moments with the faith i 

and hope that animated her sweet countenance! 

Near forty years have elapsed since my parents 
quitted their residence in this country, but it is very 
pleasing to witness the gratitude with which they 
are still remembered. I talk to the poor grey 
headed peasants, and delight to hear them say^ , 
'The Squire and ?»ladam were very good.^ What- 
ever those may think who have onUj titles or wealth 
to boast of, the good are remembered longer than 
the great \ and the name which I inherit from mv 



APPENDIX, 221 

father, still conciliates more good will in this little 
spot than any in the peerage. Indeed it is so easy 
to be beloved, it costs so little money or trouble, 
and it pays such rich interest, that I wonder more 
attention is not bestowed on it.'^ 

" For the translations from Klopstock, and from 
the Hebrew Bible, as well as for many other writ- 
ings both in verse and prose, I refer you to Mrs. 
H. Bowdler. 

" I am, dear Sir, &c. &c." 



* Some apology may perhaps be required from the Editor, 
for not omitting the little tribute of filial affection, which Mrs. 
Smith had inserted in a letter written to a friend of both fami- 
lies. To those who have equal reason to be proud of iheir 
parents, the writer of this note ventures to appeal on this 
occasion ; and by them she hopes to be forgiven. In her an- 
swer to this letter, Miss Smith says, •'Your inscription on the 
stone pleases me exceedingly. The words are in every sense 
appropriate. No one could witness the latter days of that holy 
life without feeling a perfect conviction of their truth." 



T 2 



LETTER III, 

MRS. SMITH TO THE JREV. BR. RAN- 
DOLPH. 

" Dear Sir, 
" In compliance with your request, I will now 
endeavour to trace the progress of the fatal disease 
which deprived me of my beloved child, to the last 
closing scene. In the summer of the year 1805, 
Elizabeth as seized with a cold, which terminated 
in her death; and I wish the cause were more gene- 
rally known, as a caution to those whose studious 
turn of mind may lead them into the same errour. 
I will give the account as she herself related it, a 
very short time before she died, to a faithful and 
affectionate servant who first came into the family 
when my daughter was only six weeks old. 

'One very hot evening in July, I took a book, and 
walked about two miles from home, where I seated 
myself on a stone beside the Lake. Being much en- 
gaged by a poem I was reading, I did not perceive 
that the sun was gone down, a;.d was succeeded by 
a very heavj' dewj till in a moment I felt struck on 
the chest as if with a sharp knife. I returned home, 



APPENDIX. 223 

Lit said nothing of the pain. The next day being 
so very hot, and every one busy in the hay-field, 
thought I would take a rake, and work very hard, 
produce perspiration, in the hope that it might 
imove the pain, but it did not.' 

" From that time, a bad cough, with occasional 
ss of voice, gave me great apprehension of what 
light be the consequence if the cause were not re- 
moved: bu. no entreaties could prevail on her to 
ike the proper remedies, or to refrain from her 
sual walks. This she persisted in. being some- 
mes better and then a little worse, till the begin- 
ing of October. I had long been engaged to spend 
le v/inter with a most dear and interesting friend 
t Bath, and my three daughters had accepted a 
ind invitation to pass that time at Sunbury. Eli- 
abeth had, previous to her illness, offered to ac- 
ompany me to Bath, in order first to make a visit 
Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, in the hope that she 
tiight possibly beguile some of the painful hours, 
/hich that worthy man constantly, though so pa- 
iently, endures; at least she thought that she might 
fford some little comfort to Mrs. Claxton. To 
hese friends we were bound, by every tie of grati- 
ude and affection, to offer every consolation in our 
tower. Their hearts were ever open to our griefs; 
heir house aiways offered shelter and protection 



224 APPENDIX. 

from the various evils which assailed us. To mj 
third son they have proved themselves, if possible 
more than parents. 

*^ A few da}'s before we were to set out from Con-i 

iston, my daughter became so rapidly worse, that 1{ 

doubted the possibility of her bearing the journeyij 

at the same time 1 was most anxious to remove he:' 

to a milder climate, and within reach of medical as^ 

slbtance. When we reached Kendal, I insisted oij 

taking the advice of a physician, as to the proprietti 

of continuing our journey, and I received his direc^^ 

tions for proceeding as fast as she could bear withj 

out inconvenience; her pulse, he said, indicated con 

siderable inflammation, and a warmer climate wouV 

be very desirable. She bore travelling much bette 

than I could have expected, making no complam 

but of pain in her legs, till we reached Glocestei 

when I was astonished to find that she had lost a 

use of them. The next morning her voice too Wi 

gone; and in this sad state, unable to speak or t 

stand, she was carried to the house of our belove 

friend in Park- street. From this deplorable cond 

tion she was soon relieved by the skill and attentic 

of Dr. Gibbes, and we had sanguine expectatioii 

of her being restored to health. As soon as she he 

recovered the power of walking, she was remove 

to Somerset-Place; but instead of a comfort, si 



APPENDIX. 



225 



fCcame an additional cause of anxiety to Mr. and 
Virs. Claxton. Friends less tenderly attentive, or 
ess unitormly attached, would have shrunk from 
[he charge of receiving her, instead of pressing the 
performance of her promise. 1 saw her daily, and 
pad the joy of seeing her gradually amend. Alter 
:ontinuing six weeks in Somerset-Place, she was 
^nxious to see her beloved sister before her mar- 
riage ; and with Dr. Gibbes's approbation, she ac- 
companied me to Sunbury. Her delicate state of 
health was well known to Sir John Legard, but he 
most kindly urged her removal to his house, think- 
ing that the society of her sisters, and the change of 
air, might be beneficial. In this conjecture he was 
right, and I left her at the end of ten days, much 
better; although the marriage of her sister had great- 
ly agitated her spirits, as occasioning a s^paralioR 
from the favourite of her heart. 

4 

" I returned to the friend whom I had left ill at 
Bath, and continued to receive the most flattering 
accounts of Elizabeth's health, not only from her- 
self, but from many who observal the deliglitful 
change. In one of my letters to her, I asked if she 
thought she slioukl be better in any other place, or 
if she could point out any situation in which she 
would feel herself more comfortable. In htr answer 
she said, ' I know no place in which '1 can be bet- 



226 APPENDIX. 

ter, or any that I should like half so well. The kind- 
ness and attention of Sir J. and Lady Legard can- 
not be exceeded. I am left at perfect liberty to do 
as I like, and you know how pleasant it is to me to 
listen to the conversation of two or three very sen- 
sible men, without being obliged to take any part 
in it.' — On the 6th of March my beloved friend 
Lady . expired. A fevv^ days before that event 
I had a letter from my daughter, to tell me that as 
she had some symptoms of returning inflammation, 
she had been bled, but more as a preventive, than 
from any necessity. On the 23d I arrived at Sun- 
bury, just as she was going out in a carriage with 
Lady Legard. I had indulged the pleasing expec- 
tation of seeing her materially better, and was there- 
fore thunderstruck at the first sight of her, for I in- 
stantly thought I discovered confirmed decline in 
her countenance. On my expressing to my friends 
my surprise, they told me she had bSfen greatly bet- 
ter, that the change i perceived had only taken 
place a few days before, and might be ascribed to 
the long continuance of a cold east v/ind. I ^rote 
the next day to Dr. Baiilie, and fixed a time for 
meeting him in London. After seeing her, the 
Doctor candidly told me it was a very bad case; 
that he vv^ould try a medicine which sometimes had 
proved vtry beneficial, but owned that he had little 
expectation of its succeeding with her, and desired 



APPENDIX. ^*^ 



L see her again in ten days, which he accordingly 
lid. He then said he would not trouble her with 
bore medicine; and on mv entreating him to tell me 
Exactly what plan he would wish to be pursued, 
vithout at all considering my situation; he replied, 
In the month of May, she may go where she likes, 
)ut early in September you had better go to Flush- 
ing in Cornwall; unless she should be very much 
better than I own I expect, and in that case I would 
recommend vour going to the Madeiras; but to 
pend you there, with my present opinion of the case, 
would onlv be aggravating your sorrow, by remm- 
mg you from vour country and your friends.' 1 o 
Clifton, Elizabeth always expressed a particular 
dislike, saying that she was sure the want of shaoe- 
would kill her; and as she shewed a decided preler- 
ence to Coniston,it was determined that we shouid 
go thither. Sir J. Legard would not sufler us to 
depart till the weather became perfectly mild; in- 
deed I must ever gratefully remember his uncom- 
monly friendly attention. Though a constant inva- 
lid and sufferer himself, scarcely a day past without 
his suggesting something likely to contribute to my 
daughter's ease and comfort; nor was Lady Legard 
less constant in her kind attention. 

"On the 6th of May we quittedjhe hospitable 
mansion of our friends at Sunbu^ where my 



^28 APPENDIX. 

daughters -had passed five months. Matlock watci 
had been recommended by some people, and with 
Dr. Baiilic's^pprobation we determined to make 
some stay there. At that place Elizabeth saw her 
father, after an absence of many months. The plea- 
sure of meeting him, the novelty of the scene, and 
the remarkable fineness of the weather, seemed to 
give her increased strength and spirits; and the day 
after our arrival she walked so far, that I confessed 
myself tired; but this apparent amendment was soou 
over, and she relapsed into her former languid state, 
unable to walk to any distance, and only riding a 
little way, while some one walked beside her* We 
remained at Matlock near three weeks, but not per- 
ceiving that she gained any benefit, we set jflp for 
Coniston. Travelling always seemed to agree with 
her, and on the arrival at her favourite spot, I again 
perceived an alteration for the better, but it was on- 
ly for a few days. I had a tent pitched as near the 
liouse as I could, in which she sat the chief part of 
the day. When the weather permitted, she went 
out in an open carriage, and however languid she 
appeared, still the grandeur of the scenery never 
failed to call forth her admiration. One day when 
we were sitting in the tent, and talking of the sur- 
rounding beauties, she asked me if that would not 

% 



AVPENDIX. 

fce a g'ood situation for a new cottage.^ I agreecl 
that it would, but added, ' I can determine on notli- 
ing,till I see how the next winter in Cornwall agreea 
with you. Should your health be better there, we 
shall certainly sell this place, and settle in the south.' 
She answered with more than usual quickness, ' If 
I cannot live here, I am sure I can no where else.' 
This was the only thing she ever said io me which 
implied an expectation of approaching death. I un- 
derstand that she wrote to some of her friends on 
the subject, and I find a letter from Mrs. H. Bov/d- 
ler, which evidently alludes to something Elizabeth 
had written to her respecting her illness, for in it 
she says, ' You have long had a worse opinion of 
your state of health than I hope it deserves ; but 
much attention is and will be necessary, and I de- 
pend on your promise of taking care of yourself. — 
I felt litde doubt that you v/ere ready to leave a 
world, in which as yet you have not had much 
enjoyment, for one that is much better suited to 
such a mind as yours; but we cannot spare you yet. 
You will, I hope, find much to interest you in life; 
and though I may not live to see it; you may, some 
time or other, be surrounded with blessings, which 

* A House is now built on the beautiful spot, pointed out 
by Miss Smitii, and in consequence of this co||ersation called 
Tent-Lodge. '^^ ^ 

tj 



:f 



230 APPENDIX. 

may make amends for all past sorrows.'^— W 
another letter from the same friend, dated July 16^ 
1806, she says, 'When we ask to be relieved fromij 
oar sufferings, we ask what our heavenly Father 
often in mercy denies; but when we ask to be sup- 
ported under them, we ask what we shall certainly 
obtain. May you experience this, dear child of my j 
heart, under every trial j and may those who love 

you as I do, experience it too.' ^No other part o£m 

this letter was preserved, which I the more regret 
as I have since learnt that it was in answer to one 
which Elizabeth had written to prepare her friend 
for the event which soon afterwards took place.— 
Her total silence to me, I fear, may be ascribed to s 
her perceiving, in spite of all my endeavours to conr j 
ceal it, that I had long been too apprehensive of her 
real state. No one seemed to think her so ill as I 
did. Indeed, the change was so gradual, that it was j 
only by a comparison with the preceding week, that' 
we were sensible of her having lost strength in the i 
last. It was not till the Monday before her death ) 
that any material alteration appeared, and I know ' 
you are already informed, by a letter which I wrote 
to our mutual friend, of what passed during the last 
three days of her painful existence. 



* This was written at a very early period of Miss Smith's \ 
illness; and >^h all her friends, except her mother, had hopes j 
of her recovery. 4 



APPENDIX. 231 

f " I have now, my dear sir, complied with your 
equest, with regard to my beloved daughter. Per- 
laps my desire of fuliilling your wish, may have led 
lie into a tedious detail of little matters; and it is 
nore than probable that the havock which time and 
orrovv have made in my mind, may have occasion- 
ed my omitting some things of more imponance. I 
lo not attempt to draw any character of this inesti- 
nable being, because it was well known and under- 
kood by you; and the conduct of her whole life 
jipeaks much more in her praise, than could be ex- 
|>ressed even by the partial pen of a mother. 
' '' I am, kc, &c." 



LETTER ir 

FROM MRS. SMITH TO MRS. H. BOWD- i 
LER. I 

1 
*^ August^ 1806. 

"Thank God, I can now with some composure 
sit down to thank my best and dearest friend for all : 
her kind letters; but after such a loss, we must have , 
time to weep, and time to dry our tears, before we 
(San either receive or' bestow comfort. — My neigh- 
bours have been kindly attentive to me, offering to ^ 
come here, and begging me to go to themj but I \ 
feave answered, that home and perfect quiet are all 
I can enjoy at present. God bless dear Mrs. Da- 
vies, for the kind inquiry of who would comfort 
me. She knows how to administer comfort, evem 
when she most needs it herself. This I have ex- ^ 
perienced from her, and ever gratefully shall I feel \ 
it. But God has comforted me, and the gratifying j 
conviction that my angel is forever happy, with the 
consciousness of having to the best of my abilities , 
fulfilled my duty towards her, are consolation's J 
which I would not exchange for this world's wealtbv . 



" I shall have a melancholy pleasure in comply* \ 
ing with your rec^west, and will begin where my \0i i^ 



APPENDIX. 233 

letter ended. Turpin slept in a room on!y separated 
from my beloved child by a boarded partition, and 
so close to her bed that she could hear her breathe. 
On Wednesday morning Turpin told me she was 
much the same, though the sweet sufferer herself 
said she was better. I went to her, as usual, the 
moment I was out of bed, and was struck with the 
change in her countenance. On feeling her pulse, 
I was persuaded she could not continue long. She 
told me she was better, and would get up. She did 
so, and was cheerful when she spoke, though it evi- 
dently increased her pain, and difficulty of breath- 
ing. When she coughed or moved, she seemed to 
be in agony. She took nourishment as usual, and 
on my asking what book I should read to her, she 
mentioned Thomson's Seasons. I read Winter. — 
She made many observations, and entered entirely 
into the subject. About three o'clock, Mrs. Dixon 
called, having come with a party to see the Lake. 
Elizabeth said she should like to see her. Before 
she went up stairs, I requested she would feel the 
pulse, which I was persuaded indicated the termi- 
nation of her sufferings before many hours. She 
entered into conversation cheerfully. Mrs. Dixon 
told me that she thought I was mistaken; that her 
pulse were not those of a dying person, and she was 
of opinion that she might last some time. So much 
were all deceived, who did not watch every turn of 

u2 



234 APPENDIX. 

her countenance as I did! The apothecary came af- 
terwards. He thought her in great danger, but 
could not say whether immediate, or not. At nine 
she went to bed. I resolved to quit her no more, 
and went to prepare for the night. Turpin came to 
say that Elizabeth entreated I would not think of 
staying in her room; and added, 'she cannot bear 
you should do it, for she says you are yourself un- 
well, and rest is necessary for you.' Think of her 
sweet attention! I replied, 'on that one subject I am 
resolved ; no power on earth shall keep me from 
her; so go to bed yourself.' Accordingly I returned 
to her room, and at ten gave her the usual dose of 
laudanum. After a little time she fell into a dose, 
and I thought slept till past one. She then took 
some mint-tea. Her breath was very bad, and she 
was uneasy and restless, but never complained; and 
on my wiping the cold sweat off her face, and bath- 
ing it with camphorated vinegar, which I did very 
often in the course of the night, she thanked me, 
smiled, and said, 'that is the greatest comfort I 
have.' She slept again for a short time; and at half 
past four asked for some chicken-broth, which she 
took perfectly well. On being told the hour, she 
said, *how long this night is!' She continued very 
uneasy, and in half an hour after, on my inquiring 
if I could move the pillow, or do any thing to re- 
lieve her, she replied, 'there is nothing for it but 



APPENDIX. 



quiet;' I said no more, but thinking that she was 
dying, I sat on the bed, watching her. — At six she 
said, *X must get up, and have some mint-tea;' I 
then called for Turpin, and felt my angel's pulse; 
they were fluttering, and I knew I should soon lose 
her. She took the tea well, Turpin began to put on 
her clothes, and was proceeding to dress her, when 
she laid her head on the faithful creature's shoulder, 
became convulsed m the face, spoke not, looked not, 
and in ten minutes expired. 

" It did not appear that she thought her end was 
so very near; for only two days before, she told 
Turpin the chaise was finished, and she should speak 
to me to have it home, for it would be better to go 
an airing in it, before we set out on the journey. — I 
did not tell her my opinion of her state, because I 
might be mistaken, and I believed that her whole 
life had been one state of preparation for the awful 
change. Every paper I have found confirms this 
gratifying idea. On reflection, I have every thing 
to reconcile me to her loss, but my own selfish feel- 
ings; and having witnessed the sufferings of hu- 
manity in a beloved child, 

' Though raised above 
The reach of human pain, above the flight 
Of fcuman joys;— yet with » mingled r^j 



236 APPENDIX. 

Of sadly pleas'd remembrance, must I feel 
A mothers love, a mother's tender woe!' 

"Be easy, my dearest friend, on the subject of my . 
health; it is as good as usual, and I wonder m> self | 
at the state of my mind. I believe the overlooking i 
mv Eiizabedi's papers aas administered more com- : 
fort to me than I could have received from any oth- 
er source; for every line has strengthened my con- 
viction that the dear writer of them must be happy. 
I regret her having destroyed many papers lately. 
Those remaining are chiefly religious and moral re- 
flections, translations from the Bible, he, I wislj 
to send them to you, with some little trifle of her 
property for each of her dearest friends. You will 
value them as having been hers, and excuse the do- 
tage of a parent vvho wishes her friends to remem- 
ber the treasure she once possessed. Tell me that 
you and all whom I tenderly love are better ; I 
need not name them. I have a thousand things to 
say to you, but it cannot be now. God forever 
bless you, my dearest friend! Thank all those wh® 
so kindlv feel for mc/^ 



LETTER V 

'' September i, 
" Mr. Allan very kindly desires me to set off di- 
rectly for Edinburgh, thinking it necessary I should 
immediately quit a place in v/hich I have suffered so 
much; and I have a very kind letter from Kitty, 
which I ha\^ answered by saying that it is my in- 
tention to be with them on the 25th. I have also a 
most friendly invitation from Mrs. Richardson; two 
or three of my neighbours have kindly made the 
same offer, but at present I like no place but this. I 
love to look at the seat on which my angel sat, at 
the bed on which she lay; in short nothing consoles 
me but what reminds me of her. It is a sorrow 
which is soothing to my mind, and raises it above 
the petty griefs to which I have too often given 
way. Nature never bestowed on me her talents; 
habit never gave me the same application; but my 
beloved child has left me an example which I should 
glory in following, and I pray God that I may be 
enabled to do so! 

" I had promised Mr. and Mrs. Green, that the 
first visit I made should be to them, provided they 
would assure me that 1 should see no one else. — 
Whilst I was there, Mrs. G. was called out to a lady 



938 APPENDIX. 

who was going on directly, and who had with her 
Mr. and Mrs. George Coxe; I begged to see her; 
but this unexpected meeting overset all my firm- 
ness, and she observed that she had never seen me 
so cut down before. I answered that I had never 
before lost so muclu 'No,' said she, *nor any other 
human being.' You may imagine how grateful these 
words were to my heart. The dear woman stayed 
only a few minutes, and is gone to Edinburgh, where 
she v/ill see our beloved Kitty. I have blotted my 
paper, but ijq:i will excuse it." 



LETTER YI. 

" September 8. 
" On the 5th I despatched a little box for you. It 
contains all the papers, a small parcel, &:c. You will 
observe in one of the memorandum-books a few 
words respecting the expenditure of the legacy left 
her by your excellent mother, which I am sure will 
please you.* I think I did know yovr sainted pa- 
rent; and doing so, I felt a reverence and affection 
for her IHtle short of yours. When I consider her 
unvaried affection for me, I fear I am tempted to 
think better of myself than I ought. 

" Bedford's sudden removal from this country 
has sensibly affected me, because I feel persuaded 
that I must not expect to see him more.f If it please 
God to (3re serve his life, it will probably be years 
before he returns ; and like you, I do not look far 
in this world, nor dare I look forward to any pleas - 

* 'Account of a legacy left me by that excellent and ever- 
honoured Mrs. Bowdler. May I spend every sixpence as she 
■would advise me to do. if she were present!* 

f The third son of Mrs. Smith, who was then ordered to join 
the Expedition under General Crawfurd. 



•240 APPENDIX. 

ing event. In five short months I witnessed two sad: 
scenes of death, and the impression each made on 
my mind can never be effaced. 

*' I can now again attend my own parish church, 
and 1 cannot tell you how gratifying it is to me; — I 
seem to meet my beloved Elizabeth every Sunday- 
This idea occasions sensations that 1 w^ouid not ex- 
change for any earthly treasure. They are not such 
as depress my spirits; quite otherwise: They excite 
my hope, increase my piety, and strengthen me to 
meet the trials of the ensuing we<-k. Indeed I feel 
that she is dearer to me every day," 



LETTER TTI. 

FROM MRS. GREEN TO MRS. H. B0WT3 
LEB. 

^^ September % 1606. 

"Feelins as I know you do for your beloved 
friend at Coniston, I think it will be a comfort ta 
hear from one who has had much intimate conver- 
sation with her since the sad loss she has sustamed. 
Itis true that to you she has opened her whole heart, 
and you know all that passes there better than can 
tai you; but it will interest you to hear of her looks 
Ind deportment from a friend who has -en her fre- 
auently, and who feels for her most smcerely. Yes- 
tTrday'evening we returned from Con.sto^ after 
^vnHws there. Her firmness, her collect- 
Ente.c/eatythin,lhaveseen,becausel 

trace through it feelings the most acute. 

"The instant we heard of what had happened, 
Mr. Green, impressed by the idea °f he"ece.vmg 
the blow in a state of solitude, was mclmed to go 
lirectlv, but I convinced him that U was better to 
write fi St. I soon had a few lines wh.ch afforded 



242 APPENDIX. 

all the satisfaction we could expect to receive; quiet, 
she said, was at first absolutely necessary, but it 
would be a comfort to see us when she could sup- 
port the meeting. A worthy Clergyman afibrded 
all necessary assistance, and to him she gave direc- 
tions as to all that was to be done. The last solemn 
ceremony took place early in the morningj and was 
conducted with perfect simplicity* It was over be- 
fore we heard of it, otherwise Mr. Green and I 
should have been tempted, through respect for the 
living and the dead, to have attended. On Mr. 
Green's account, however, I believe it was better 
omitted, though he says it would have been a satis- 
faction; but it might have been too much for his 
nerves, for they were so much affected by his first 
visit to Coniston, that it was several days before he 
recovered. Indeed it was an affecting visit. On 
that day three weeks we had seen your dear girl 
fitting under the same tent in a field overlooking 
the Lake, accompanied by her Father, Mother, and 
Sister; now we found her place empty, her Mother 
and Sister alone ! It was not very long before Mrs. 
Smith had the resolution to speak of her. She 
sought and found the highest consolation in dwel- 
ling on her virtues, and on the proofs she had lound 
in the writings she left behind, that she was well 
prepared to quit this world. Mrs. Smith afterwards 
read to us the most kindly sympathizing letter from 



APPENDIX. -^^^ 



Thomas Wilkinson that was ever wntten on such 
an occasion, with some verses to the -^mory of hj 
favourite, so characteristick, and commg so tru y 
f Ithe heart, that neither Mr. Green nor I codd 
restrain our tears. Mr. Green «J-«-" ^^'"^^ 
fitted up that show-box for you, and means to do an 
appropriate moon-light for it." 



XETTEE VIII. 

rROM IVmS. GREEN TO MRS. K. B0\^1>- 
LER. 

" Mr. Green has been trying to do his promised 
moon-light in a way that may do some justice to his 
regard for you, and to the memory of the interesting- 
person to whom it alludes; but he bids me tell you 
that, when most anxious to do his best, he seldom 
©an please himself. He trusts however that you will 
be in some degree gratified by this token of his re- 
gard to you, and to the memory of one so justly 
dear to you, and so affectionately valued by himself. 
He applied to me for some lines to write on the 
space he has left at the bottom of the frame, and wjts 
pleased with my suggestion of selecting a couplet 
from the verses written by Thomas Wilkinson.-^ 
They came pure from the heart of one who truly 
appreciated her character, and tenderly lamented 
her loss." &c.^ 

* With this letter I received a beautiful landscape, wiUi 341 
uxn sacred to the memory of my beloved friend, which is pla- 
ced with her transparencies. This picture was one of the lasl. 
efferts of Mr. Qreen's elegant pencfl. That ingenious, amia- 



APPENDIX. 2** 



I will here add the letter and poem mentioned by 
Mrs. Green. The author, Thomas W.lkmson, a 
Quaker, is well known, and universally respected m 
the country where he resides; and Mrs. Smith says 
of him, " He is one of the very few people who re- 
ally knew my daughter, and he felt fpr her charac- 
ter that esteem which the wise and good ever enter- 
tain for each other." Miss Smith had much pleas- 
ure in his society and correspondence, and he some- 
times attended her and her sisters in their long 
walks amongst the mountains. 

ble, and most excellent man died on the lOth of June. 1807.- 
The lines to which Mrs. Green alludes are now indeed peculiar- 
ly appropriate, and they are placed on the pictures 
" Long shall my care these sweet memorials save; ^ 
"The hand that traced them rests within ths graye'" 



X? 



LETTER IX. 
THOMAS WlLKmSON TO MRS. SMITH, 

" My dear Friend, 
" Will it be an intrusion on the sacredness of thy 
sorrow, thus to address thee? I have heard of thy 
loss, and can truly say I sympathize therein. I have 
awoke in tears in the night, to meditate on the affec- 
ting event; and the thoughts of my friend, and pre- 
cious daughter, are frequently my companions by 
day. Many are now my recollections of dear Elizas 
beth; her sweet and serious countenance is often so 
vivid in my remembrance, that I sometimes can 
hardly think I shall see her no more. How un- 
searchable are the ways of the Almighty! He fre- 
quently selects the wisest and the best for Himself, 
whilst the " world lying in wickedness" seems to 
want their example and reproof, and the virtuous 
and drooping Christian their encouragement and 
Support. Yet we are not to question his ways; for 
surely they are in wisdom, though that wisdom we 
cannot comprehend. Never let us forget, my friend, 
that this is a state of trial. Affliction and trial will 
tierminate in the grave, and if we are faithful to the 



APPENDIX. 247 

last, we shall rise in happiness. I have had no par- 
ticulars of the trying event; when thou hast strength 
to write, it would be desirable to know how thou 
and Juliet are, and whether thy husband, or any 
branch of the family, were at Coniston during the 
solemn scene ? Thy lot has often been to bear the 
heaviest part of the burden. I shall devote the rest 
of my paper to a little memorial of its kind to thy 
valued daughter. 

" Farewell! With true esteem and affection, I re- 
maia thy sincere and sympathizing friend, 

" T. W.*' 



LINES ENCLOSED. 

'•How dark this river nvurmuring on its way; 
This wood how solemn, at the close of day! 
What clouds come on, what shades of evenhag fall, 
Till one vast veil of sadness covers all:— 
Then why alone thus lingering do I roam. 
Heedless of clouds, of darkness, and of homef>— 
Well may I linger in this twilight gloom 
Alone, and saA— Eliza's in her tomb! 
She who so late, by kindred taste aili'd, 
Paced this lone path, conversing at my side? 
The wildering path 'twas her delight to prove, 
TkTffttC^ *^« V*^^ inOiey, « the eoolii^< grow. 



24f8 APPENDIX. 

«Can I forget, on many a summer's day, 
How through the woods and lanes we wont to stray; 
How cross the moors and up the hills to wind, 
And leave the fields and linking vales behind: 
How arduous o'er the mountain steeps to go. 
And look by turns on all the plains below; 
How scal'd th' aerial cliffs th' adveni'rous maid. 
Whilst, far beneath, her foil'd companion staid? 

*' Yet whilst to her sublimest scenes arise. 
Of mountains pil'd on mountains to the skies, 
The intellectual world still claim *d her care,— 
There she would range, amid the wise and fair, 
Untutor*d range; — her penetrating mind 
Left the dull track of school research behind; 
Rush'd on, and seiz'd the funds of Eastern lore, 
Arabia, Persia, adding to her store. 

"Yet unobtrusive, serious, and meek. 
The first to listen, and the last to speakj 
Though rich in intell<»rt, her powers of thought 
In youth's prime season no distinctioa sought; 
But ever prompt at dut/s sacred call, 
She oft in silence left the social hall, 
To trace the cots^and villages around. 
No cot too mean, where misery might be foun4;; 
How have 1 seen her at the humblest shed. 
Bearing refreshment to the sick man's bed; 
His drooping spirits cheer'd — she from his door 
Retum'd, amid the blessings qf the poor! 



APPENDIX. ^ '^^^ 

a?-- 

"Oh, lost Eliza! dear, ingenuous maid, 

While low in earth thy cold remains are laid, 

Thy genuine friendship, thy attentions kind, 

Rise like a vision on my pensive mind; 

Thy love of truth, thy readiness to please, 

Thy sweet, refin'd simplicity and ease, 

Enhanced the favours of ingenious art, 

And made thy gifts pass onward to the heart? 

These beauteous tints,* these peaceful scenes I view., 

Thy taste design'd, and ready friendship drew; 
Long shall my care the sweet memorial save— ^ 
The hand that trac'd them rests within the gravel 

"Lamented Maiden! pensive and alone, 
While sorrowing friendship pours her tender moan^ 
Sad memory sees thee, at our parting hour, 
Pale, weak, yet lovely as a drooping flower 
Which sheds its leaves on autumn's sickly bed;^ 
Thou from thy pillow rais'd thy peaceful head? 
To me thou held'st thy feeble hand— it bore 
Naambannat dying on his native shore; 
Like his, Religion's holy truths, address'd 
To thy young mind, were treasur'd in thy breas^; 
Like his, we saw thy early blossonis wave; 
Now see the Virtues weeping o'er thy grave!" 

♦ "Her drawings in a rustick building beside the river Emont." 
f An affecting account of the pious African, Henry Gran- 
ville Naan^banna, which she gave the author, as he took his 
last leave of her a short time before her death. 



'^0 Ai'PENDIX. 

. The last manuscript with which I- was faveured 
by Dr. Mumssen arrived too late; and when I wrote 
to thank him for it, I mentioned the irreparable 
loss I had sustained, and spoke of my lamented 
friend in the following wordsj which drew from 
him an answer so gratifying to my feelings, that I 
hope I may be pardoned for inserting it. My letter 
contains a very imperfect sketch of Miss Smith's 
character, but it is drawn with t»itb* 



LETTER X. 

EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM MRS. 
H. BOWDLER TO DR. MUMSSEN. 

'-'-SepUmber 1806. 
" The lovely young creature on whose account I 
first applied to you, had been for above a year grad- 
ually declining, and on the 7th of August she re- 
signed her pure spirit to God who gave it. Her 
character was so extraordinary, and she was so very- 
dear to me, that I hope you will forgive my dwel- 
ling a little longer on my irreparable loss. Her 
person and manners were extremely pleasing, with 
a pensive softness of countenance that indicated 
deep reflection; but her extreme timidity concealed 
the most extraordinary talents that ever fell under 
my observation. With scarcely any assistance, she 
taught herself the French, Italian, Spanish, Ger- 
man, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages. She 
had no inconsiderable knowledge of Arabick and 
Persick. She was well acquainted with Geometry, 
Algebra, and other branches of the Mathematicks. 
She was a very fine musician. She drew landscapes 
ftom nature extremely well, and was a mistress of 



"252 APPENDIX. 

perspective. She shewed an early taste for poetry, 
©f which some specimens remain; but I believe she 
destroyed most of the eifusions of her youthful 
muse, when an acquaintance with your great poet, 
and still more when the sublime compositions of the 
Hebrew bards, gave a different turn to her thoughts. 
With all these acquirements she was perfectly fe- j 
minine in her disposition; elegant, modest, gentle, ' 
and affectionate; nothing was neglected which a 
woman ought to know; no duty was omitted, which 
her situation in life required her to perform. But 
the part of her character on which J dwell with the 
greatest satisfaction, is that exalted piety, which 
seemed always to raise her above this world, and 
taught her, at sixteen years of age, to resign its 
riches and its pleasures almost without regret, and 
to support with dignity a very unexpected change 

of situation. For some years before her death 

the Holy Scripture was her principal study, and 
she translated from the Hebrew the whole book of 
Job, &c. &c. How far she succeeded in this attempt 
I am not qualified to judge; but the benefit which 
she herself derived from these studies must be evi- 
dent to those who witnessed the patience and resig- 
nation with which she supported a long and painful 
illness, the sweet attention which she always shew- 
ed to the feelings of her parents and friends, and the 
heavenly composure with which she looked forward 



APPENDIX. 253 

to the awful change which has now removed her t© 
a world, 'where (as one of her friends observes) her 
gentle, pure, and enlightened spirit will find itself 
more at home than in this island of shadows," &^# 



LETTER XI. 

DB. MUMSSEN IN REPLY. 

^^ Ahona^ Oct. 3,1806. 
"Let me very heartily sympathize with you, dear 
Madam, in your sorrow. The loss you have suffer- 
ed is great, is irrecoverable in this world. The ac- 
count you gave me of the extraordinary character 
of your late angelick friend, has filled my breast 
with admiration and awe. I have read your letter 
with tears. So many accomplishments, natural and 
moral; so much of science, erudition, and eminence 
of rare talents, combined with grace, with gentle- 
ness, and 'ill the virtues that adorn a female mind ! 
It is wonderful, and cannot be enough admired.-~ 
Great, indeed, must have been your happiness i» 

the possession of this treasure. Alas! the gentle 

spirit that moved her tender limbs is soon divested 
of its mortal garment, and gone to join its kindred 
Angels! 

'Vattene in pace, Alma beata e bella!' 

"But I think her happy in this our period; for what 
can be more fortunate on earth thaii to fall into the 



APPENDIX. 255 

hands of the virtuous, and free from contact of a 
corrupted race, to make her passage over our un- 
lucky planet pure and immaculate, and with the 
robe of innocence appear before her Creator? To 
taste all the sweets of science and art, and having 
satisfied all honest desires, remove from the feast 
of life with gratitude. "Tis a consummation de- 
voutly to be wished!* 

" Your being deprived of such a hand, I fear, 
will put a stop to your honourable project; yet I will 
hope that somebody will be found to assist you ia 
reducing and sifting the materials you have collecr 
ted. 

"Pray tell me the name of your late young friend, 
that I may honour her memory. Such radiant 
:3ames seldom descend to inhabit terrestrial forms. 

'^ With true esteem and affection, I am, Scc.'^ 



LETTER XII. 

FROM THE REV. DR. RANDOLPH TO 
MRS. SMITH. 

"I have to thank you, my dear Mrs. Smith, for 
your very interesting manuscript. To those who 
©nee shared the friendship of your excellent daugh- 
ter, the most trifling incidents of her life are now 
become valuable records; and scenes of childhood, 
when connected with the expansive powers of gen- 
ius, cease to be insignificant; as the smallest rill as* 
sumes an importance from being contemplated as 
the source of a great and majestick river. Let me 
however confess, that without a more powerful mo- 
tive for my request, than the one you so justly as- 
sign to me, I should have spared you the sad re- 
laembrance of the days of infantine occupations; and 
judging of the culture by the produce, have given 
due credit to your system of education, nor felt any 
inclination to pry further into the se-crets of a moth- 
er's care. 

" But the plant you had the happiness to rear in 
the moral garden of life, (though, alas! of short du- 
ration^) exhibited such a luxuriant fertilitjf, and a 



APffiNDlX. 257 

vigour of shoot so far exceeding the ordinary growth 
of intellect, that it seems a duty you owe to society 
to mark the several points and stages of its advance- 
ment to such early maturity. 

** I see you start at the proposal I am about to 
makej but the papers now before me not only serve 
to increase my admiration of your beloved child, 
but convince me, the more I read them, that she that 
is gone ought to live in universal remembrance j that 
over such a grave grief should not be dumb: and that 
the world, deprived by her death of one of its bright- 
est ornaments, has a claim to every memorial of her 
^exalted worth and t^ents, to shew the unthinking- 
crowd what may be done, and to hold forth an ex- 
ample of what has been dona even in so short a space 
of time, by fulfilling the duties of a Christian life, 
and the purposes of rational existence. 

" You know that I am no advocate, genera% 
speaking, for biographical sketches and memoirs. — 
The vanity of some of these communications might 
well be spared, and the profligacy of others ought 
not to be endured. But if the reflecting reader, tir- 
ed or disgusted with a mere series of adventures, 
should prefer a narrative that led the mind to 
thought, to one that only filled it with wonder or 
amusementj if he had rather follow Cowper to his 

y 2 



258 APPENl)IX. 

study, than a General to the field, or a Statesman 
to the cabinctj to such a class of readers, I scruple 
not to say, you have it in your power to offer a most 
captivating publication. Every page I unfold fills 
me with fresh astonishment, and when I collect the 
tvideijce of your daughter's attamments within the 
short period of her earthly existence, when I com- 
bine the graces of person, and the elegance of ac- 
complishments, v/ith her more noble and higher 
distinctions of intellect, I seem to lose sight of what 
once adorned society, and to be tracing a form of 
ideal perfection. 

*' Over every thing she touches she seems to 
spread a new charm; and whether she furnishes 
materials from her own capacious mind, or draws 
them from the stores of others, there is a choice and 
arrangement, which evinces the soundest judgment, 
tis well as the sweetest imagination. Her feelings 
are exquisite, but never romantick; and in the 
flight of her most excursive fancy, she keeps within 
the bounds of truth and taste. In all that she in- 
vents or describes, nothing is overcharged or unnat- 
ural. Her pen, like her pencil, places every object 
in the most pleasing point of view; and the delicacy 
of her thoughts is even heightened by the purity, I 
may say piety, of the expressions in which they are 
conveyed. In her various translations from the 



APPENDIX. 259 



IGerman, and other languages, most of which I have 
compared with the different authors, she never mis- 
takes or weakens the spirit oi the original. Klop- 
stock, under her management, talks English as well 
as his native tongue; and the warmest of his admir- 
ers would rejoice to hear the facility and precision 
with which she has taught their favourite poet and 
philosopher to converse amongst us. — Ot her He- 
brew versions, of which I would not aUow myself to 
be a competent judge, I can now speak in the 
strongest terms of praise, from the testimony of 
some of our. best Hebrew scholars, to whom the 
Book of Job has been more particularly submitted. 
The opinion of this extraordinary production, trans- 
mitted to me by a friend who ranks among the first 
in this department of literature, I here subjoin. 

* My dear Sir, 
* I have exceeded the time I had prescribed to 
mvself for sending you my report of the MS. of 
Job; but I was desirous to form the best judgment 
I wis capable of, before I ventured on a final opin- 
ion. I have now, however, most fully satisfied my 
mind UDon the subject; and I feel that I should do 
great injustice to the work, if I did not pronounce 
it to be an excellent translation. After a close scru- 
tiny, and a careful comparison with the original, it 
strikes roe as conveying more of the true character 



260 APPENDIX. 

and meaning of the Hebrew, with fewer departures 
from the idiom of the EngUsh, than any other trans- 
lation whatever that we possess. It combines accu- 
racy of version with p*irity of style, and unites crit- 
ical research with familiar exposition. From the 
received translation it very seldom iinnecessarilij 
deviates, which I consider to bv a proof of the au- 
thor's taste and judgment; for^ in general, the lan- 
guage of our English Bible is such as no one pos- 
sessing these would wish to alter. The correction 
cf trrour, and the improvement of the sense, seem 
to be the only inducements, and serve as the chief 
guides in every variation of phrase adopted in the 
version of your friend. These variations are un- 
doubtedly sometimes considerable, but always in- 
genious, and generally w^ell-founded, and never ha- 
zarded but with reasonable colour, and manifestly 
after much investigation. New readings and new 
significations are occasionally introduced; and from 
the appearance of some pf these at the commence- 
ment of the work, I had at first been led to enter- 
tain doubts as to the merit of the translation; but 
upon further acquaintance, and a fuller review, I 
find them much less frequent and less violent, than 
(I am sorry to say) are to be met with in most of 
our modem versions of the various parts of the Old 
Testament. Conjectural emendations of the text 
particularly are most sparingly indulged inj. so that. 



APPENOIlt. 261 

upon the whole, I cannot but recommend the publi- 
f ation of the entire version; in the fullest confidence 
that it will be received as a valuable present by the 
lovers of biblical literature.'-* 

" Upon such proofs, I may venture to rest my 
justification, if any be necessary, for earnestly re- 
questing your permission to draw from the journal 
of her improvement a simple narrative of your 
daughter's life. Many of the documents must ne- 
cessarily be omitted, but enough may be given to 
confirm our estimate of her worth, and prove to the 
world that it has not been raised beyond its due 
standard by the partiality of her sorrowful and sur- 
viving friends. If the dear companion of some 

of her early studies might be prevailed on to under- 
take the arrangement of the materials, (and I think 
©ur solicitations to her for that purpose may not be 
in vain,) your mind will be better reconciled to the 
measure, and the world will be satisfied as to the 

fidelity of the detail. Let us, I beseech you^ 

unite to accomplish this; and believe me, Sec." 

* Letter from the Rev. Dr. Magee, of Trinity college, Du&y 
tin, author of Discourses on the Doctrine of the Atonement, 



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